Okay. So I lied.
The Christmas tree didn't get put up yesterday. But it did come down out of the garage attic, along with a shower of dead ladybugs and a confetti of insulation, wasp skeletons and other assorted creepy crawly things that have no business anywhere near me. The important thing is - it was ready for me to put together this morning. No excuses.
All my life I've imagined myself as Doris Day, decorating a perfectly shaped tree while dressed in a lovely, soft skirt topped with smart buttoned blouse and a freshly starched apron. I would have just the right amount of makeup on, flaunt a flattering hairstyle, and hum holiday songs as sweetly as an angel. I'd have on very practical pumps -( not too much of a heel)- and perhaps a string of pearls with a matching set of earrings. In the kitchen, homemade gingerbread cookies would be plumping in the oven and a delicious casserole would already be prepared for dinner.
While I decorate the tree, I would skitter - dance to Bing Crosby- and all the while smiling at each ornament I hung carefully in a thoughtful spot. I would place each strand of tinsel one by one till the tree took on a glittering ice effect that made everyone in my family (and possibly the whole neighborhood) look upon it in awe.
But sadly, my imagination was rudely overwhelmed by reality.
When I decorated my tree today, I was not Doris Day. I was a cross between Roseanne Barr and Minnie Pearl.
I wore thick, flannel, black pants-(with noticeable lint), purple tie-dyed footie socks, an oversized tee shirt that said Gorilla Glue, a knee length sweater with bleach stains, and eye glasses on a chain. My hair was unwashed (and that weird kind of crazy that happens when you toss and turn all night), and the only thing on my face was eye crust and powdered donuts.
I cursed the tangled lights, I threw on a few tacky ornaments, and I tossed the tinsel in one giant lump. The topper made the tree lean slightly to the south and I used encyclopedias to stabilize the wobbly stand.
There were no cookies in the kitchen. No casserole for dinner. Just cold pizza and Tootsie rolls left over from Halloween.
Bing Crosby was not serenading me. Snow was not falling fast and deep outside. And nothing really glittered, shimmered, glowed or looked especially awesome.
I'm thinking maybe next year, I'll wear the apron. Couldn't hurt.