Simple and elegant? Surely you jest …
Every year, Mr. wOw vows that he is going to get elegant for Christmas – décor-wise. (No chance at this point of becoming an elegant person!)
“Wow,” I say to myself – because I am way too immature to call myself “Mr.” “This is your Grace Kelly moment. Think lean, cool lines. A tree barely glittering with a few twinkling lights, exquisitely arranged. Or perhaps just a dozen or so cherished ornaments, with a whisper of tinsel. Or, an all-red or white or blue or green decorated tree. One chic color scheme.”
Right. Really, I try. I get the damn tree, lugging it three blocks. I set it up, throwing out my back. I stare at it. I go upstairs and stare at 30-plus years of ornaments and gewgaws.
I take down the box. I neatly decorate.
I take down another. Why not some ribbon?
I take down another. How about those fake poinsettias?
I take down another. What about these bits of sparkly garlands?
Sigh! And so you see, Mr. wOw’s good intentions are all to naught. Every year my tree looks like a Victorian bordello. In Mexico. On Elizabeth Taylor’s head, circa 1968.
Believe it or not, this was Mr. wOw’s smallest tree in some years. But scream for mercy as it did, this helpless fir was attacked by bad taste on an epic scale.
Wretched excess is Christmas to me. Especially as I disdain gift-getting and gift-giving. I hate to be told when I should be thoughtful. And I don’t want people spending their hard-earned cash on Mr. wOw. Gifts are for kids. Let’s just go out to dinner and appreciate life.
I see friends, blast Christmas music until my birthday in January, and ponder as I always do this time of year, matters of faith.
And then, I remember – dammit!!! I’ve got to take all this crap down.
Christmas, bah, humbug.
I think, “Next year, gold tinsel.”