Christmas is trying to kill me.
You know when you buy life insurance and you’re asked if you engage in high-risk behavior like skydiving or mountain climbing? Well, I think another question to determine your life expectancy should be do you have a fetish for outdoor Christmas decor?
If you reply with a “Oh my gosh yes, it wouldn’t be the holidays without the contents of at least four storage tubs the size of Mini Coopers being festooned across my yard” then you should be classified right up there with fools who voluntary swim with sharks while double fisting two large raw filet mignons.
It’s not like I’m pulling a Chevy Chase from Christmas Vacation and scaling my roofline like a blottoed billy-goat to string lights. Thanks to the laser illumination power of the Star Shower, the Star Splash and the Star Meteor my whole house is covered in swirling red and green dots and all I had to do was shove four separate itsy bitsy light stakes in the ground.
I do though love garland and other assorted greenery to grace the front of my home and that’s what almost killed me. Back in November I thought I hit the jackpot when a fabulous, posh friend of mine was moving and asked if I wanted her Frontgate Christmas garland.
I enthusiastically squealed, “Oh hell yeah!” and was most excited about experiencing the wonder of Frontgate up close and personal. Before that day I had to be content to peruse the mail order catalog, usually as light bathroom reading, and wonder what it would be like to actually buy something like a $750 Seville Towel Valet (translation: a towel holder that resembles a book-case). I was pretty sure it might be life changing.
When I got my hands on the garland I was in awe. It was like Santa himself harvested it from his secret stash of evergreens at the North Pole. It was lush and robust with berries, baby pinecones and a sprinkling of pristine snow.
The garland spoke to me and said, “Hey baby, why don’t you say we class up this joint?”
I was all in. I told my husband he could take his Walmart three-foot beagle with the belly that lights up and the reindeer that no longer had ears and put them back in the basement because we were going to Fancy Town. I was excited to the point of tingling when I attempted to swathe the outside of my house with the garland.
Attempted is the key word here because the lushness of the garland presented a degree of difficulty in getting it to stay in place. It wasn’t the garland’s fault. It was mine. I was a novice in interacting with luxury. Heretofore my garland experience was of the craft store with coupon variety and that stuff is on the skimpy side.
The Frontgate garland due to its heft required more than Command Hooks. But I was not to be thwarted. I was going to use nails and heavy gauge floral wire to lasso it in place.
All was going splendidly with this plan. I was on a six-foot ladder banging in nails and wrapping the sumptuous faux evergreen when all of sudden the garland literally sprung off the nails and bitch slapped me right off the ladder. As I’m tumbling all I could think about was this was Frontgate’s way of telling me I’m not worthy.
Luckily the earless reindeer and beagle that I had dragged out of the yard and put on the porch to carry into the basement broke my fall. Yes, bad taste saved me which is why if you drive by my house you’ll see both reindeer and beagle in my yard. I figured it’s the least I could do.