Excerpt of a conversation from the last three weeks:
me: “YOU NEED TO SHAVE YOUR FACE.”
A: “IT’S MY CHRISTMAS BEARD.”
me: “THAT IS NOT A THING.”
Minutes later, while I am up to my ass in Christmas cards and am drinking glitter from the festive bows adorning our doorways:
me: “WHERE IN THE HELL IS YOUR CHRISTMAS SPIRIT?!”
A: “ON MY FACE.”
It may seem like we do a lot of yelling. And you would be correct.
For some reason, my husband likes to show his Christmas talents in very strange ways. Not only has he stopped shaving in order to celebrate the birth of the baby Jesus with a wooly chin, but he finally got his way with our wrapping paper.
After I overruled his insistence on brown, postal wrapping paper the previous December, that is what will be “adorning” our presents this year. Surprise, family! Our gifts are the poopy ones.
However, there will be a bit of cheer on the paper, as A took it upon himself to make paper snowflakes and spray paint the snowflakes onto the paper.
As a native Midwesterner, I have made a few paper snowflakes in my day. Am I remembering incorrectly that our teachers gave us those useless neon safety scissors and a stack on construction paper and we just went. to. town?
They always turned out perfectly and resembling snowflakes because, just like our elementary school selves, they are all different and special in their own way.
In another hemisphere, A never learned how to make the paper snowflakes as a pup. The tiny kiwi boys and girls instead rode whales during school … or something.
Therefore, when I burst out of the kitchen last weekend, with the entrails of five dozen Christmas treats covering my body, I was stunned to see his perfect snowflakes littering the floor.
Hubby, however, had a SECRET.
He had discovered a website that gave TEMPLATES for snowflake making. Pretty sure a fascist or a tropical climate-dweller came up with that insane idea.
“Are you … cutting out a pattern?” I sputtered. Then I proceeded to show him HOW IT WAS DONE.
I think the winner is pretty clear here.