Gene and I got an eight foot Christmas tree this year. It’s a beast. Every time I walk into the living room, it’s like the spirit of Christmas grabs me by the throat and shakes me until my brain rattles in my skull. You guys, it is so festive and great! (Ow, my brain.)
I love this season so much. You can bake all kinds of things with cinnamon and nutmeg in them, the house smells like noble fir and everything is SUPPOSED to be covered with glitter, good taste be damned. Also, my mom has a lovable tradition of trying to puncture Gene’s dignity by making him wear felt reindeer antlers in photos. She seems to look at Gene and his dignity as she would a guest who insisted on keeping his overcoat on in the living room. She is determined to make him relax and feel at home, and if that means making him wear the bright red antlers with the bells, so be it.
Well, enough of this. Today I must be about the business of the season: I need gift tags, boxes, cards and eggnog, which I do not especially like but I feel like I should offer Gene some recompense for having to endure another year of enforced antlers. Also, it’s possible the stores will have other kinds of silly hats which might fit him. It turns out I am not such a fan of holiday dignity myself.
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