So, it’s December 3rd and we are the only house on our street without Christmas lights up and blinking. As a matter of fact, we have been the only house without Christmas lights for almost two weeks.
Two weeks, you ask?
Yes, that’s right. Most of the neighbors had them up and ready to go the weekend before Turkey day. Some even had them on. Hey, around here we call that getting the jump on Christmas spirit, baby.
*sigh*
Of course, not us, because we are bah-humbug by nature. (Okay, so I am, at least.) Christmas decorating (in my opinion) is a lot of freakin’ work – lots of hauling boxes in and out of the attic, dusting off trinkets God-only-knows-who gave us years ago, setting up and decorating a dead tree in the middle of the family room that the dog will just want to pee on and the baby will undoubtedly try to knock over. (Gee, can you tell this is my most favorite time of year?)
And if that weren’t bad enough, now we have to decorate the outside of the house ala Clark Griswald-style as well. Obviously, this is at the bottom of my to-do list. I mean, who came up with this bright idea, anyway? Once you manage to get yourself onto the roof, you risk life and limb to string lights over steep rooflines, odd angles and icy shingles, all for a little bit of twinkle that lasts – at most – one month.
(And that’s if you’re lucky. Because the odds are pretty good you’ll test that string of lights, then get them up on the roof only to find out one light in the strand is burned out, and surprise! the whole damn string now doesn’t work.)
*Note to self…make sure DH’s life insurance is paid up before he gets up on the roof to string the lights*
But, apparantly, I am the only one around here who feels this way. Because all the neighbors have done this already. And none seemed to have complained (at least not that I could hear). In fact, most are looking at us like the Kranks have moved into our house, and *gasp* Heaven forbid we don’t have lights up yet.
Um…did I ever mention we live on Wisteria Lane? Okay, it’s not ‘called’ Wisteria Lane, but it’s pretty damn close. As close as reality gets to Hollywood, that’s for sure. Our street is well-known throughout the town for its…um…uniqueness.
Who am I then, you ask? Well, don’t you know? Nicollette Sheridan’s Edie was based entirely on me. On a boring afternoon I can often be found outside in tight, denim, cut-off shorts and a white T-shirt two sizes too small, lathering my red convertible in the sun, missing a few times and soaping myself in the process, all for the enjoyment of the middle-aged men down the street.
In winter, too. While stringing friggin’ Christmas lights across the roof.
*sheesh*
Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Christmas. I enjoy the season and the holidays, getting together with friends and family, teaching the kids the true meaning of Christmas. I’m just not all that wild about the whole decorating thing that goes with it.
So, much to my chagrin, tomorrow we’re headed out to get the tree so we can start decorating the inside of the house. (I am so excited.) And then at some point we will 
move to the outside and string the lights so the neighbors can stop gossiping about us, because here on Wisteria Lane, we’ve been all the talk lately.
And I will grumble and complain and tell the DH it’s not worth it – all for one measly month (well, less than a month now) – and he will make me get into the Christmas spirit if it kills me because the kids enjoy it and it’s the parental thing to do.
Christmas spirit, baby. I think I need some.
Desperately.
