Holiday Cheer

I got in quite the Christmas mood yesterday.

It happened on my way home from school when I decided that my lime green walls could use some holiday cheer. This is mine and Hubs' first married Christmas, so I figured I would be the good wifey and get the house decked out. Hubs had rehearsal until nine so the plan was to have everything bought, decorated, hung, placed, perfected by the time he came home. I could see it now, Hubs walking in the door and his sexy, not-tired-at-all,  every-hair-perfectly-in-place wife greeting him sweetly, "Merry Christmas honey bunny!"   All this would be happening while the lights twinkled in the window, the Christmas tree glistened, and the stockings hung perfectly. Maybe even a gift would be waiting under the tree, wrapped and completed with bows and ribbons.

That was the idea anyway. Sometimes girls are funny. Now, 24 hours after the plan hatched, I can see it was destined to fail.

Problem number one: What guy comes home after a long, tiring day, sees an apartment full of Christmas decorations, and is just beside himself with glee?

Answer:  No man.

Sometimes I think about things that I would like, then I get really excited about doing them for Hubs, and then consequently get confused when he doesn't show the same amount of pure joy that I would in the same situation. It's a strange world we live in with men and women trying to co-exist. I realize now, of course, that what Hubs was going to want when he came home was a hot dinner, a pleasant wife, and a couch. Unfortunately for Hubs last night, he got neither the Christmas decorations nor the hot dinner and smiling wife.

It all started out innocent enough. My intentions were pure.

The plan:
1. Get a tree
2. Get lights for the tree
3. Buy stockings
4. Buy glitter and glue to put mine and Hubs' names on the stockings.
5. Stop by my mom's house to borrow some ornaments.
6. Pick up a caramel apple at Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory.
7. Make dinner while Christmas music played.
7. Decorate the tree and hang the stockings while dinner cooked.
9. Fix myself up so I look sexy when Hubs gets home.
10. Light all the Christmas lights and set the table, dinner ready to be served in a romantic Christmas atmosphere the instant Hubs opened the door.

Funny how plans never work out.

It all started at Wal-mart. My arch nemesis.

I have never before bought a Christmas tree, and I was grossly misinformed on the price. I saw a friend's facebook status that said she had got her full sized tree for $10 with a coupon. Naturally, I figured from that that a normal priced full sizer would go for $15 tops. No problemo. I ain't no millionaire, but I think I can spare $15 for some holiday cheer.

So naive. 

Full sized trees were in the $100 range, and $10-15 trees were... well... non-existent. The best value I could find was $25 for a four foot tree. That's about $6.25 a foot, and if you ask me that is $6 a foot too much for some fake pine needles.

I was quickly determining that I was going to have to cut some steps in my ultimate plan if I was ever going to live through the day.  First thing scratched: stopping by my mom's to get ornaments.  I could just get some here at Wal-mart for a couple of bucks and save myself the trip.  Fat chance.  Do you know what the going rate is these days for a box of ornaments at Wally's World?  Fifteen bones. FIFTEEN!  Who are these people?  Needless to say, I resigned myself to a stop at my mom's to dig through her Christmas decoration leftovers, in spite of my increasing weariness.

Thus the night went.  There was no glue at Wal-mart, so I had to make yet another stop.  The ornaments at my mom's house were nowhere to be found, and my phone was out of battery.  After nearly half an hour of searching, I found the ornaments in a closet I never knew existed.  On my way home from my mom's, the gas light came on in my car.  So I stopped to get gas- eighteen degrees and all.  Back in my car, and on the road I got cut off in traffic by a Buick.  And I really hate Buicks.

And slowly, but ever so surely, my Christmas cheer morphed in to a 5'4" white female version of the Christmas grinch.

The straw that broke the caramel's back was the candy store.  Of course, I shouldn't have stopped.  I realize that now.  Should have just kept driving on home, sights set on the road and my mind never wandering to that $6 piece of caramel apple heaven.  I'll save you the trouble of reading my post from yesterday and summarize- basically the candy store involved dozens of BYU zoobies, on ornery ex-zoobie (me!), and some blatant butting in line.  Twenty five minutes later I was back in my car, arriving home after an endless day at 7:45 pm.

Funny that I didn't feel like cooking dinner at that point.
Funny that I didn't feel like putting up the damn Christmas tree. (So sorry, mom)
Funny that I didn't feel like changing into something sexy.
Funny that I didn't feel like being cute and clever and sweet and flirty for Hubs when he came home.

Instead, I dropped the overpriced fake tree on the floor, threw the stockings, glitter, and ornaments on the table, heated up a can of soup, changed into old dirty pajamas and vegged on the couch.  I didn't do the dishes that were waiting in the sink.  I didn't empty the overflowing trash.  I didn't vaccuum up the bugs that are undoubtedly starting to build a small community in the carpet.

Luckily, Hubs didn't much seem to notice when he came home.  That's the nice thing about boys.  They care so much less than girls about those unimportant things. Instead of commenting on my gross sweats, the Christmas vomit that was spewed all over the front room, or the lack of dinner, Hubs cuddled up next to me on the couch.  "Want to watch an episode of the Kardashians?" he asked.

Yes.  As a matter of fact.  I did.

Twenty four hours later, I am staring at my Christmas tree box, the tree still nestled tightly inside.  The ornaments and stockings still litter the kitchen table.  It may be as far as I ever get in my decorating. 

And if so, that's okay.

The Christmas tree  It is anyone's guess how long it will stay in that box.

Our first ever stockings.  But will they ever hang my walls?