It's the music that gets to me. Those Yuletide carols of old push me to be all that I can be, making Christmas the domain of fur-clad wonder women. Only instead of magic bracelets, I have oven mitts. Instead of a golden rope, I have a to do list just as long. Replace the dynamic smile of Wonder Woman with the grin of a crazed reveler and you would have me. Every year I say I'm not going to go through that again, and every year the music gets me anew, transforming me from an average woman into a happy holiday horror.
WARNING: Holly hurts. I tried to use holly one year and ended up with hands
so full of holes you could use them for colanders. The next year I used
tinsel. I also use popcorn strings and those cheesy paper loop chains. One
year, my husband threatened to turn me in for violating child labor laws
because I made our kids cut construction paper strips for ten hours. I told
him we were making memories. I think the effect is lovely. One of my
friends came over and told me it looked like someone had tossed their
Christmas cookies up all over my living room. Maybe the five-foot flashing
neon bells were a bit much. Come to think of it, that's probably why my
family wore sunglasses every time they came in the house and the electric
company sends me thank you notes.
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