I’m gettin in to the christmas spirit.
Yesterday, with no extra caffeine, no superfluous alcohol consumption, and no one sticking a hot poker at my rear end, I decorated the house. Yep. You heard me correctly. After last week’s excess laziness and much complaining, I miraculously bucked up and took on the whole house in one fell swoop.
Mantle? Done. Big red bows on the front doors (have I told y’all I have two front doors? Odd choice, whoever build this place. Odd choice.)? Check. Lights strung over every eve? Well, no. Husband will do that this weekend. Christmas tree? Umm….not exactly. I got the stand though.
Okay, so I didn’t do the entire house. But during this barrage of decorating, I got to thinking. That is, when Lucy was not tugging at my jeans, eating Cheerios off the floor and biting the cat.
I got to thinking…I’m kind of like Santa Claus.
And here’s why:
1) My belly shakes like a bowl full of jelly. Moms, you know what I’m talkin about. Even after all the pregnancy weight is gone, it’s still…less than taut.
2) I carry around bags of goodies all the time. Sacks of dirty diapers to the trash. A big ‘ol purse full of Cheerios, toys, lip gloss and maybe my wallet and phone. They’re bound to be in there somewhere.
3) Red makes me look fat.
4) I grow white facial hair. Some would call it “blonde.” I call it “a $20 wax.”
5) I make naughty lists all the time. There’s usually only one name on it, though. And it rhymes with “goosey.”
6) I always wear fur. Courtesy of my cat.