“Ooooh, sparkly!” becomes my obsessive observation every holiday season. As we drive through neighborhoods or around business decked with lights, my optimistic nature finds solace in the early nightfall because the world twinkles and glows. Inside our house, rings of lights loop around our tree, and I’ve placed candles in every room and merrily enjoy their dancing glow each evening.
The exterior of our house, though, remains darkened. Every year, I eagerly await my husband’s promise to adorn the front bushes with lights. That’s all I ask for, a few strands thrown carelessly over the bushes, and I’d rejoice. I know, I know—if I really wanted lights out front, I’d simply do it myself. Except . . . it’s one of those few things that I ask of my husband that I feel goes “beyond” the norm. One of those silly “women” demands that almost every other man in our acquaintance does effortlessly for their wives. Some Christmases, I’ve pulled the boxes filled with lights out of storage and left them in a prominent spot in the living room in anticipation of the possibility that David will suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to decorate outside. If that doesn’t’ happen, I begin my verbal nudging (aka nagging). However, my wishes for decorations outside often go unmet. Some holidays, I actually put the boxes of lights away after a couple of weeks, defeated.
Currently, the light bins dominate the living room again. Last year, I purchased new lights to add to the collection. They never left their boxes, though. My confidence holds strong that lights will go up this year because my husband’s taken three days off this week. However, just in case, I did post this on his Facebook page when it floated around a couple of weeks ago:
from TexasHillCountry.com (Facebook)
Beggars can’t be choosers, after all.
Copyright 2013 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman
