To be honest, it’s the same silly fight, more or less, every year. But being predictable isn’t the most ridiculous part of this debate.
“This can’t be all the lights. We’re, like, a foot from the top of the tree!”
“This can be all the lights because it is all the lights.”
“No way. They worked last year.”
“No way. Same size tree.”
“Are you going to fix the lights?”
“No. There’s no way…”
“Just fix them.”
“Easy for you to say. I always do the lights.”
“So shouldn’t you be better at putting them on right?”
“They are on right, smartass. They just don’t go all the way up.”
“Oh. I see.”
“Fine. I’ll finesse them a bit. But it’s going to drop even more needles if I go around and around taking the slack out of the lights.”
“So move the tree away from the wall.”
“You. It’s too hard to move.”
“Then why would I do it?”
“Because I said so.”
“Please fix the lights.”
“Fine.” Takes ten minutes to rewrap the tree. “Is that good?”
“If by good you mean closer to the top.”
“Then, yes, it’s ‘good.'”
“Don’t finger-quote. Just…fine. You do it.”
“I’m not doing it. You’re the lights person.”
“But why? Why do I do this every year?”
“Because you do it wrong every year then want someone else to fix it. So if you have to fix it yourself, nobody has to listen to you control-freak all over them.”
“I don’t ‘control freak all over…’. Damn it. I want to rewrap this.”
“This is the last time, though.” Fixes lights on tree, which is still against the wall. Lights are perfect, tree is perfect, life is perfect.
“That looks great.”
“It does, doesn’t it. Thank you. Now you sweep up the needles.”
“Because you made the mess and you have to clean it up.”
As ridiculous and childish as this fight is, I find it more ridiculous and childish that I’m having it with myself. Because my husband won’t get within 50 feet of the tree when I’m stringing the lights.
Mostly because he knows I’ll have this fight with or without him, and he prefers…greatly prefers…that I have it without him.
Hahahahaha! I love the last part…the whole time I was reading it, I was trying to figure out which part was yours and which was his!! ;-)
I’m either good at being both or he just never talks enough for anyone to recognize his retorts.
I most appreciate the fact that you use finger-quotes when talking to yourself.
Oh, believe me, I have a marked disdain for what I say in internal debates. I don’t play fair, and I prefer undermining myself with erudite witticisms such as, “I’m rubber, you’re glue; whatever you say bounces off me and sticks to you.”
Jeez, the testosterone only gets worse as the year rolls on, and you just added two more testy machines. GOOD LUCK.
Reminds me of 12 pains of xmas song…. 1=finding a xmas tree, 2=rigging up the lights, 3=hangovers (this is your cue to hit the vodka!) ….let me know when you start singing xmas carols (it’s 12). I’ll send a rescue crew.
Hey Lemon Curd, BAH HUMBUG!
I’m sure Ms. Claus loves the tree. Give her all the cookies (the ones WITH sugar, thx).
I can’t believe he won’t fight with me. I’m hilarious to fight with. Just ask me. ;-)
this is my favorite fight EVER.
Come on over. I genuinely have a fight like this (though smaller in scale) most days of the week.
Because I’m always not doing things the right way, then jumping all over myself for not doing it right, then pointing out that I should be nicer seeing as how I’m the one actually *doing* it regardless of how, and…
What a delightful read, and recognizable scenario. (A little perfectionism in certain specific activities? How many of us need to look in the mirror on this one, especially this time of year?)
I’m having to adjust to doing less, especially at the holidays, in part because of other commitments (time, resources), in part because of fatigue (life), in part because my boys aren’t here to help (though they’ll be home for Christmas). It’s hard, when you know in your head how something “could” be (and “should” be), and at times, it simply cannot – or other things must take precedence.
I do wonder… Is this sort of perfectionism primarily a woman’s domain? Do we put far too much store in these activities and their results, as though they are somehow the measure of our worth?
If so, I can readily say – guilty as charged.
I do think, Wolfie, that it seems a female preoccupation with making holidays perfect and home perfect, though we know full well there is no perfect and that it’s not *our* job. I would think I’d be even more perfectiony if my boys were in college and coming home for holidays. “Must make everything nostalgic and warm and wonderful and perfect and balanced between ‘gee I miss home’ and ‘I’m so glad for the childhood I had,’ and ‘Mom is the best’ and ‘I’m so glad I get to create my own memories as an adult because Mom’s way is fine but she’s a little weird’.” I still remember my mom crying that the sugar cookies didn’t turn out so we could all havefundecoratingthemgoddamnit!