Didn’t I swear to you, faithfully, that I had some jotted down and ready to go just as soon as I shared the magnificence of my tree?
I don’t know why you doubt me. I mean, if you knew me a little better it would make sense. But you’re not actually the same people who wait an extra fifteen minutes for me to show up with my phone glued to my face, so I don’t know where all this suspicion is coming from.
After all, it’s not like I actually had a totally appropriate conversation in my notes and then forgot to put it in….
ME: (lighting the tree, reciting along with Boris Karloff) They’ll join hand-in-hand, and those Whos will start singing.
(Instead of Whos singing Fahoo Foraze, playlist switches to Wreck the Malls)
HIM: What the hell?
ME: Oh, it’s every Christmas song I own. Set on random.
ME: (tilts head, listens) I don’t think I’ve ever heard this one, actually
Now then. It may surprise you to know that The Harbinger of Christmas Spirit (oh yes, we’re sticking with that) didn’t actually marry one of Santa’s elves. First of all, he’s way too tall for that job, and secondly, he used to actually have a rule against Christmas-making before about mid-December.
I had to do some Trump-style* negotiating in order to get my Christmas music start-point moved up to the day after Thanksgiving. As if one teeny month could contain all my inner jingle and tinsel? Pfft. But relent he did, and now we play Christmas music at night so that I can be lulled to sleep by my favorite sounds in the whole wide world…. well, mostly.
ME: Are we leaving Christmas music on again tonight?
HIM: Yep. (beams at me, because this is his Good Deed)
ME: Okay, then I’m going to need you to NOT wake me up all night, asking me “what’s this one?” and “do you even know this song? Who is this?”
HIM: (laughing) I don’t remember that.
ME: Yeah, that’s because YOU were asleep. I couldn’t sleep, because some JACKASS was quizzing me all night.
HIM: The husband you sleep with is stupid.
Of note for the Grinchy-minded among you: yes, every single one of these conversations has something to do with our current holiday season, at least incidentally. Please deal with it gracefully; we’ll be back to debating superheroes and snoring soon enough, I promise.
Being a classy, understated sort (apologies to those of you who know better and just sprayed your beverage all over the keyboard) I decided to do a glittery, candy cane striped eye makeup for a recent holiday party. Because glitter is messy, I did all of this before getting dressed. Because my husband is hot for me, I stopped to give him one last look at the goods before I covered them up. So there I was, standing before him with hair and makeup done and heels on and not a thing in between….
ME: What do you think?
HIM: I think you look awesome and not like an oompa loompa at all.
HIM: With the green*** hair, and the stripey….
HIM: You’re just way too tall! And skinny!
ME: (storms out)
HIM: I’m sorry.
ME: Actual…. Conversation….
HIM: I love you!
*where you don’t actually offer anything in exchange, just keep insisting that your way is the way it will be done
** there doesn’t seem to be a font that adequately conveys my icy tone. Rest assured, he was suddenly all frosted and flocked.
*** did I forget to mention that I’ve recently dyed my hair green and purple? Because I did that.