Sunday, November 26, 2006

McScrooge-y

Have you ever lived with a real-life Scrooge?

Well, when Christmas time rolls around, it ain't all that great.

I have no idea why Hubbba-hubba views Christmas with so much distaste. From what I understand, Christmas was a very big deal in his youth, with two Christmas trees (one in the front living room and one in the back den) along with presents and parties and relatives. Well, perhaps the relatives might be a clue.

But ever since I have known him, which has been coming up on sixteen years, Hubba-hubba's heart does not get warm and fuzzy at the thought of the holidays. Instead, it turns into a rather crabby and definitely unhelpful lump of coal.

Does Gina want Christmas lights strung up outside the house? Well, then Gina has to do it herself. Ever since we bought this place, I am the one to get on the stepladder and string up the lights. When Mr. P was smaller, I tried to plead that he would be thrilled with a larger display than the admittedly puny one that I put up. My pleas fall on completey deaf ears. I remember having a two year old running around the patio freaking out at his mommy up on a ladder. Fun times.

Does Gina want a Christmas tree? Well, that request elicits an eye roll and sigh of irritation. Hubba-hubba refuses to make the journey to the tree lot himself (he pleads the old marital standby whine of "I'll pick something out and you wont' like it" as his cop out). Then when we get there, he is so disinterested that he won't even help me stand up the trees and shake them out so I can actually tell if they have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon. Actually, I should amend that after recieving the look of death a few times, he will grudgingly pull one from the stack for me.

Would Gina perhaps like her Christmas tree lit and hung with ornaments? Thank you kindly, I certainly would. But again, I must do the entire thing by myself, including the lights. Which is a pain in the ass. Invariably, there is a young man who prances around, pointing and shrieking at me that I am "doing it wrong." As if he would know. Or on the flip side, desperately wants to help, but as of yet, is too young for me to entrust glass ornaments from the 1940's. One day he'll get there. I think.

I have told Hubba-hubba for years that he needs to get over himself. That for the sake of his child, he should at least try to overcome whatever prejudice he has in his heart against the most wonderful time of the year, damnit. I know it isn't my Dad's favorite holiday either, but he participated in things like decorating the tree and wrapping presents and such. I have many wonderful memories of tree-hunting and ornament decorating parties that we all did as a happy family. Hubba-hubba needs to drink the Kool-Aid and be like the rest of us.

Or at the very least, he's gonna have to start faking it.

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