I conned husband into dragging the tree up from the downstairs cupboard. I just pushed it onto him, we were passing the cupboard and I said “Can you go in there and pull out my tree and decorations and help me carry them up, I am so small, I can’t lift it” I looked all forlorn and whimsically girlish- well in reality I probably looked like a sad hobbit-like dwarf.
“Ok hold the door and I will get it all out” he answered.
So he carried the two giant boxes up the stairs and let me get on with it.
I managed to rope him in to the tree trimming by saying “Please help me, these branches that need assembled and constructed have tiny wee colour strips to help you sort them out in size and I am colour blind as you know, please help me I love you….” I whined.
My tree is a bunch of green branches that are poked into a solid green stalk that comes in tubes that you slot together, it is difficult to build.
He sat down beside me and my gigantic mound of green plastic branches; he sorted them all out in size, colour code and in order of assembly. He then started putting it all together with me and before you knew it we were trimming a tree! The very tree that he hated and tried to make me give away rather than build for the holiday season.
I finally got it all up and tied on all my lovely sentimental decorations. Husband was fussing and fixing little red velvet bows (this was extremely unusual as husband has a primeval fear of velvet and normally goes foetal rather than touch it) he made such a nice job of the decorations.
I am happy- the tree looks amazing and the room is so seasonal….so nice.
Now all I have to do get husband to share my love of make up, cleansing balms and Donny Osmond.
I then finally sorted out the wee nativity scene, made me think about poor Mary…imagine being pregnant with the Son of God, then being married to a man who never organised the delivery in advance? I mean they had NINE months to get ready for what was going to be the most talked about birth in the history of the WORLD! Yet they left it all to the last minute, then he pulled her onto a fucking asthmatic donkey and dragged her to a town where the whole place was mobbed because of a census….the poor woman must have been dying in pain, knocking on doors begging for a bed in LABOUR!
How she kept her patience and accepted their “Sorry no room luv” I would have clutched my heaving belly and screamed
“For Fucksake, I am squeezing out God’s son here; you must have a fucking floor near a fire and couple of blankets? Help me or I swear I will get the father of this baby to smite you with locusts….don’t make me do this…you wont like me when I am angry”
Poor woman had to finally give birth in a barn, surrounded by animals, then what happens? Men arrive with gifts. No women came …just men.
Did they bring hot tea and pain killers? Maybe a warm blanket or some soup? No they brought Frankincense and other strange shit, just what she needed as she chewed her own umbilical cord….one man brought a lamb….there already had wee sheep and donkeys but hey one more lamb is good yes?
Poor Mary, I personally would have punched Joseph in the balls, killed a lamb and left the baby on the door step of the inn keeper who ignored her pleas, then fucked off to Syria, took in a beach holiday and divorced Joseph. God could fight over the custody battle; it was his son after all.
You see that’s why I would never have been picked to give birth to God’s son and become a religious icon….I hate nuns!
“Deck the halls with bows of holly…lalalalalalalalal”_