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Hell, Now It Even Looks Like Christmas, Dammit!

So, tonight I set up our Christmas tree.

Now, is that because I’m a big fat Christmas-loving sap? Not at all.

(At the very least, I can refute the ‘Christmas-loving’ part. Gimme time, and I can probably come up with something for some of the other words, too. Just lemme think a while, dammit.)

Anyway, what’s going on here — did Mrs. Claus drop a present down my chimney? Are my jingle bells all welled up with holiday spirit? Have I got glittery tinsel all up in my sugarplums?

No, no, and… damn, don’t I wish. But not necessarily in that order. Jingle bells, indeed.

So why go through all the kafuffle of lugging the tree downstairs, and unstringing all the lights, and poking my fingers with the hooks on all the ornaments? Why, when I think I’ve clearly shown — like here, and maybe here, and almost certainly here — that I’m no jolly frickin’ old Santa type? That’s just not my style. You can take that ‘holiday cheer’ and shove it where the candy canes won’t reach, you dig?

So, again, why get all tannenbaumy and shit?

Because I’m a romantic old turd, that’s why. Don’t hate me because I have a soft spot — and not just the one on my head.

See, the tree is usually my wife’s job. Oh, sure, I’ll help — I’m usually in charge of ornament unwrapping and light-string holding, but I’m never, under any circumstances, the one who suggests that we spend an evening getting all seasonally festive. Never — I’m the mean fucking Scrooge, remember?

On the other hand, my wife has never waited this late to pull the trigger before. She’s in law school now, and still has another first-semester final to go next week, and I’m pretty sure she just wasn’t gonna have the time. But she gets into all of this holiday sort of schtuff, and I also figured she’d be pretty sad if we missed the tree this year. So, I played the ‘sentimental sap’ card, grabbed all the shit, and set it up tonight, before she got home.

So, bottom line — screw Christmas, pretty much. But if I can use a holiday tradition to score with the wife — whether that be score ‘good will’, or ‘points’, or just score, preferably — then count me in, goddammit. I’m a grinch, but I’m not frigging stupid, people.

So now we have a tree. And frankly, it didn’t take all that long to assemble. That’s partly because it’s a little three-foot plastic jobbie, so there’s really not much to it. Couple of doodads, a few lights, and it’s done. Like putting earrings on a midget. Easy.

(Assuming the midget’s already got the earring holes, of course. If you gotta deal with the actual perforating, too, then yeah — that’ll take a little longer. It’s not a perfect analogy. Cut me some slack, people — I just wanted to get midgets in there, somewhere. It is Christmas, after all.)

Meanwhile, the wife seemed to dig the tree, so it was worth the effort. And who knows — maybe that ‘Christmas cheer’ will rub off, and I’ll actually enjoy this holiday season.

Yeah… nah. That’s not gonna happen. Christmas still blows reindeer balls. But at least my wife is happy, so that’s something. I guess there’s something to this ‘spirit of giving’ bullshit, after all. Eggnog and humbugs all ’round, people. I’m out.