Oct 29 2006
bedecked, bedazzled, bewildered
Last night, I was taking the dog for a little spin in the car. (I know, I know. I’m just like a cat lady, except with a dog. The other day, I actually called Sweet Pea “Honey Pumpkin Muffin Pants.” It’s sad, except a honey pumpkin muffin would probably be pretty good.) I got to the house pictured above and had to slam on the brakes. Of course, I had my camera with me, so I rolled down the window, snapped the shot, and went on my merry way. I forgot all about it until I was looking at the day’s pictures on the computer, and then knew that this was just one of those things I was going to have to write about.
So, last year, I wrote a letter to these decorations, and I can see that they have chosen not to heed my warning. And, you know, fine, decorations. Fine. I was just trying to help you out, but if you want to keep on twinkling your way down this spiral of shame and despair you’re on, then be my guest. I’m not going to write another letter, anyway, because even though it would be acceptable, considering the fact that I have nothing original to say, I see no point in beating a dead horse. Or a live one, for that matter, but I shouldn’t start digressing before I’ve even made a point, if that’s even possible.
Okay. When did people start putting up Halloween lights? When I was a kid, all we had were carved pumpkins, and we liked it! So, when did we get the glowing inflatable things and the purple and orange icicle lights? Because I really, um, well, I’m at a loss. See, it all started with Christmas (by the way, today I was in the store and saw a 10′ tall inflatable snow globe with Santa’s workshop inside — friends, it has begun). Remember when the light display in Christmas Vacation was audacious? Not so much anymore, right? I mean, all I have is a Christmas tree in the front window and I look like I’m Scrooge, hoping that idiots filled with holiday cheer are boiled in oil and then buried with stakes of holly through their hearts. Which is not the case, by the way, because I am nothing if not jolly.
Anyway, then there were plastic eggs hanging from trees come Easter. Okay, fine. The resurrection of Christ and baskets filled with candy by an unnaturally large bunny are reasons for festive decorations. I get it. Then I started noticing pink lights in bushes shrubs around Valentine’s Day. And, you know, whatever. Then the aforementioned purple icicle lights. Sure. If it makes you happy. But where does it end? Do you hear me?
WHERE DOES IT END?!?!?
Arbor Day decorations? Vacuum cleaners hanging from trees for Mother’s Day? Will we need to festoon bushes shrubs with neckties (made entirely out of lights!) come Father’s Day? Are we going to wrap tinsel around old people and make them sit on the lawn for Grandparents’ Day? Will the compulsive need to decorate things and be bad stewards of electricity drive us to start celebrating holidays from other countries? Like maybe we’ll just start with Canada Day and see how it goes?
You tell me, America. You tell me.
The pants are kind of a deal breaker, though.
Wait, were you talking about something else?
hmm…when I think of Mother’s Day, I don’t think of vacuums. It’s statements like this that have gotten many a husband, s.o., etc. in the doghouse.
In fact, I don’t think I like the implication of vacuuming being a female sport. You know, I can operate a mean RugDoctor(R) myself.
Linus — Well, that’s the way it often is with pants.
Tony — Heh. It’s just that I’m an unfeminist meanie. Also, I really like the image of vacuum cleaners hanging from trees.
That house is about 43 kinds of tacky. Now I can’t wait for Christmas; we’ve got displays around here that are at least forty-FOUR kinds of tacky.