Jingle Bells

“The Christmas tree looks good,” Mr. Wonderful said admiring the evergreen I’d decorated in the living room.

“What about these?” I said swooping my arm toward the fireplace.

“The stockings are a nice touch.”

“And this?”

“Mistletoe? You’re thorough—”

“What about the plants I decorated outside?!”

“Have you lost your mind?”

Deck the halls with boughs of holly! Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la! Christmas! It’s the only time of the year you can go overboard decorating every room, window and cubby hole with festive lights, tinsel and bells and everyone loves it… except Mr. Wonderful. Unlike the rest of the universe, Mr. Wonderful is not a fan of decorations although he does tolerate a turkey in November, some pumpkins in October and piles of tax receipts before April 15. So with Christmas, he liked the simple approach. In other words: zilch.

This lack of decorating was a problem because well, I loved it! How could I convince him that decorating every plant, bough and twig was the thing to do at this time of the year? A string of lights flashed in my brain! Of course!

“We have to decorate the exterior of our house because the neighbors do,” I said marching out the front door. 

“Who does that in our neighborhood?”

“Jerry!” I said swooping my arm toward our San Franciscan neighbor with the endless strings of red, green and white lights, which traced the outline of his house, including mailbox, gutters and outdoor electrical outlets. 

“You have a point,” he said shaking his head in defeat. Ah-ha! I clapped my hands and rubbed them together in anticipation of wrapping white lights around our palm trees—each one 60 feet tall!

“On second thought, maybe we shouldn’t decorate the outside,” Mr. Wonderful continued. “Since Harold doesn’t.” He swooped his arm toward our 86 year-old neighbor’s house and sure enough, the only festive thing Harold had up was the U.S. flag, which was more in keeping with the Fourth of July than X-mas, Jolly Saint Nick or fa-la-la-la-las. 

Drat. Now Mr. Wonderful had a point. Jerry’s decorations cancelled out Harold’s lack thereof and I was back to square one, otherwise known at this time of the year as the First Day of Christmas.

I needed to find another rationale for Christmas decorations. Christmas! That’s it! Of course!  I turned to Mr. Wonderful.

“We have to put Christmas decorations on the exterior of our house because it’s just for these few, special weeks a year.”

“Hmmm.” Mr. Wonderful said crossing his arms. “I’ll agree to that if you’ll let me not decorate for 52 weeks a year.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“Neither do Christmas decorations.”

Now I’m not a lawyer but his logic was illogical, unconstitutional and not mathematical. If I let him not decorate for 52 weeks, then it would prevent me from decorating for my two weeks. 

No, I needed some how, some way, some thing, to convince Mr. Wonderful that I should display my tasteful, festive Christmas decorations to the world. Something! Of course!

“Jackson!” I entered the house calling our fierce some feline. A bell tinkled and Jackson trotted up to me.

“What happened to the cat?!” Mr. Wonderful said in shock.

“I decorated him for Christmas,” I said petting Jackson’s fur as he rubbed up against my leg the whole time the little bell on the red ribbon around his neck jingling and jangling. “What do you think?”

Mr. Wonderful rubbed Jackson’s ears, the bell tinkling with each turn of the cat’s head. “If he doesn’t mind being decorated,” Mr. Wonderful said. “Knock yourself out decorating the house.”

Then I kissed both my guys, under the mistletoe. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la!