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Santa Would Be Impressed With His Vocabulary |
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© 2002 - 2006 Carole Moore |
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My neighborhood is really very striking this time of the year. Looking out the front window, I see twinkling lights, loops of garland, red bows and a large man kicking the daylights out of a wooden deer. I would call the police to come and get him, but I'd just have to pony up the bail money since he's the father of my children. Yes, my husband, who is generally more laid back than most dead people, is currently mouthing colorful expletives as he hurls jolly holiday decorations at the trees, squirrels and one strategically-placed azalea bush. The sight actually spurred me to go out front and inquire as to the source of his Yuletide ire. "What are you doing?" I asked as he gripped a string of lights he'd spent hours fastening to one of the fake deer. "What the (*^%%$ does it look like I'm doing? Going Christmas caroling?" he playfully rejoined, savagely ripping the strand of lights from the deer's neck. I weighed my response carefully. After all, this man rarely raises his voice in anger and – unlike me – only curses when he smacks himself with a hammer or almost has a body part chopped off. So for him to start throwing inanimate objects takes a really bad hair day. A string of twinkling lights that apparently weren't flew by my head. My husband glanced up. He had the same kind of look on his face that I fancy Neanderthal man did whenever he was preparing to rip a wooly mammoth to bits and eat the raw flesh. Perhaps I should tread lightly, I thought. "So – things not going well?" I asked politely. Ugh the Violent gave me a scathing look as he blithely tossed his industrial strength staple shooter over his shoulder and into the defenseless bush where it joined a wadded-up cluster of lights. He walked around to the other side of the deer and kicked it's little wooden legs out from under it. "(*&$%#@! deer!" he said. He was breathing heavy at that point. "%$*&&^ lights don't work," he said and gave the deer another kick. "Why don't you just go and buy some new ones?" I ventured. He raised killer eyes to me. "Those ARE new ones," he snarled. Uh oh. Involuntarily my gaze traveled to the house where he'd spent half a day stapling a string of lights in a perfect line across the front. Well, perfect except for one string that hung bleakly dark, breaking the lights right in the center. Quickly, I lowered my eyes, but I wasn't fast enough. He saw it and let out a bellow that sounded a lot like a Viking getting ready to light a funeral pyre and push it out to sea. "THAT one is NEW, too!" he yelled. Then he turned and gave the deer a little kick in the shins and marched into the house to watch a basketball game. So when you're out looking at Christmas decorations and you pass a house with a lit deer and a dead one lying on its back with its legs in the air, you've found us. Of course if his team loses that basketball game, you won't see any deer at all – just a large Christmas bonfire in our front yard. From our house to yours, may your Christmas be merry and bright and may all your Christmas bulbs work right. |
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