Would you believe me if I told you that the bulk of the dishes from yesterday’s Christmas feast are still in the sink?
The thing is, and I may be wrong here, but I think I may have run out of “cheer”.
What’s happened to me?!
I was cheery when I decorated my house this close to a legitimate white-light-green-boughs-and-red-velvet fixation.
I was cheery during Misfit Thanksgiving, when we had 25-or-so people over for turkey and sweet potatoes and beer and cigarettes.
I was cheery when I shopped for gifts, wracking my fudge-saturated brain for what the people in my life would enjoy.
I was cheery yesterday, when I made manicotti and Chicken Marsala, et cetera, for 10. (And I was very cheery when my mother brought the tiramisu!)
But somewhere between clearing the wrapping paper and collapsing the gift boxes, somewhere around the last of the eggnog and the first of the dirty wine glasses, I lost my Christmas cheer.
In the next week or so, I’ll be tearing it all down. So help me, it all comes down, packed into a number of large hard-rubber containers and dragged down two flights to the basement – which means I need to be cheery again, if only for the four or five hours it’ll take for tear-down and the usual decorations’ reinstatement, if I wanna do it right.
OK. I’m gonna get cheery – for just for a little while longer.
But I’m not going to like it – and you can’t make me!
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