Painted Into a Corner

One would think after recently recovering from a debilitating journey to wallpaper removal hell I would have come to the conclusion that I’m significantly challenged in all forms of home improvement.

But because I suffer from delusions of grandeur based on the hours I’ve spent watching HGTV I decided instead of giving up I was just going to use a very 2020 sensibility and pivot from wallpaper removal to painting. Never mind that in the past I have proven to be a very, very, unskilled wall artesian.

This time though was going to be different because I was just touching up walls not doing anything that requires skills like painting trim or the dreaded cutting-in (shudder). Before you judge me for being a big cry baby about cutting-in please note that there are like a zillion videos on the internet about the right way to cut-in. So, I ask you if it is so easy why are there so many videos telling you how to do it?

My problems started before I even picked up a paint brush. The issue was how to match the wall color. Now, I’m completely aware that a sane person would have saved the paint swatch perhaps even filed it under home improvement/house interior paint colors. I did this – kind of.

 The problem was I saved the paint swatch of every color I was considering a decade ago when the room was painted. This meant I was left with about 50 swatches.

News flash – it’s almost impossible to take a paint swatch and see if it exactly matches your wall especially when you have dozens and dozens of swatches and they all look almost exactly the same. Some more than others especially if you’re squinting.

It was time to call for help and I enlisted my husband’s advice about which swatch looks like the paint color on the wall. The amount of discourse we had was profound. Not only were reading glasses used but at one point I got out a jeweler’s magnifying thingamabob for up close and personal comparisons. (Note: I don’t even know why I own one or really where it came from. But that’s a discussion for another time.)

I felt like we were paint anthropologists going deep on the life of paint. Had the paint on the walls aged or been bleached by the sun? Was the sheen different on the sample thus making an accurate comparison suspect? Or had the swatches been degraded after spending ten years in a Ziploc bag and shoved in the back of a cabinet drawer?

 Honestly, the level of discussion and introspection we had over matching the paint samples was next level. I’m not sure we examined getting married or having kids with this degree of scrutiny.

I finally had a Eureka moment and unscrewed a painted over cable outlet and took it to a hardware store for a color match. It was a case study in déjà vu.

The paint professional began quizzing me about sheens. Hmm, was it eggshell or satin? I finally guessed satin because it sounded prettier than eggshell. Then he went deep on environmental factors affecting a perfect paint match.

As I felt myself losing my tenuous touch with reality I had to wave the white flag of surrender and just tell the guy to do the best he could and I would live without whatever that was.

Hmm, guess who had to repaint an entire room and do the dreaded cutting-in due to the paint being slightly “off?” That’s right -me. I guess there’s no such thing as a perfect match or at least that’s what this paint anthropologist firmly believes.

True Confessions of a Football Wife

Noooo! This can’t be happening? Hasn’t the pandemic been agony enough. Why, oh why, am I now in college football hell – again?

One would think that the fact a fan can experience Big 12 football during a pandemic would be a most supreme blessing. But sadly, in my case this is not what’s happening.

If you’re confused now and pondering why a fall afternoon spent luxuriating on a coach generously sprayed with a very aromatic Febreze Pumpkin Spice while watching a football game on your TV is anything other than nirvana I totally understand.

The problem is my husband is a graduate of the University of Texas and therefore a Longhorn football fan. This means every fall I’m forced to ride along with him on an emotional journey fraught with hope, disappointment, another brief shining millisecond of hope and then a turbulent tumble into a chasm of despair.

Longtime readers will note that this is the third time I’ve written about this topic and yet I still find it newsworthy because the misery index seems higher this fall and it’s not even that the football team sucks. As I write this they’ve only lost two games.

The anguish is rooted in how they play. To my very untrained eyes the activity on the field is sloppy and so painful to watch that not even a jalapeño pecan cheese spread can save the day and that’s saying something. This cheese spread is a multi-layered taste sensation that should be able to turn any football frown upside down.

For my own mental well-being I rarely sit through an entire game. My modus operandi  is to periodically check in on my husband to make sure he hasn’t stroked out. I will, in an attempt to be supportive, try to watch the game, but it’s hard.

To get through the last game I took to reading random stuff on my phone. A link on the proper way to re-grout your shower was so mesmerizing it got me through the second quarter. Who knew that you needed a “diamond bit grout remover blade” to do it properly? Seriously, what homeowner has that laying around in their basement?

I then switched to reading recipes. I found what I thought was a great one for pumpkin doughnut drops but it required two cups of lemon lime soda and that just seemed wrong. Soda in doughnuts sounded about as bad as U.T. losing in, I don’t know, two or was it three overtimes to O.U.?

Ugh, about that loss. It was brutal. My husband had to walk it off and after he got home he made the oft heard declaration that he was “done watching Texas play football.”

I swear even our two dogs rolled their eyes at this one. If there’s one thing that’s been said more in our marriage then “What’s for dinner?” It’s “I’m done watching Texas football.”

I just shook my head and tried not to audibly sigh. The chances of my husband not watching a Texas football game are slim to none. He can’t help himself. It’s like me with that cheese dip you just can’t stop even though you know it’s not exactly a bounty of nutritional good judgement.

Of course, I’ll be there for him as we spend another autumn on the Texas football hot mess express. I’ve suffered so much already from getting a 3rd degree sunburn back in 1980 while literally roasting in the stands at Darrell Royal Stadium to enduring the women’s restroom lines at the Cotton Bowl in 2000 while seven months pregnant. One hour people, one solid hour, standing in line to use the bathroom.

Frankly, at this point all the suffering has become a tradition. I’m not sure it would even feel like fall without it.

A Sprinkling of Silver Linings

I think we can all agree that so far 2020 has been annus horribilis. (Shout out to my high school Latin that I haven’t used in 40 years.)

If you’re one of those people that can find a silver lining in a pandemic then I salute you because I can’t. Sure, if pressed, I guess, I can come up with some positives.

I did learn things like my Internet has a lot in common with a teenager who wants to sleep all day and when forced to do some hardcore chores has a breakdown. This also educated me that while paying for high speed internet I’m getting more of a “high speed occasional, when I, sort of, feel like it which isn’t very often,” experience.

Yes, before you ask I aggressively reached out to my internet provider and I would rather get 100 nasal coronavirus swabs than have to live through that again. I finally had to go to the nuclear option which was to get my son to hard wire my home office.

This called for him to brandish a drill and lasso 40 feet of computer cable through our upstairs hallway which now resembles a mad scientist’s lair.

Maybe another silver lining is that I did have some self-discovery moments. About two months into the lock down I had an epiphany that I hate cooking dinner. In fact, I think I’ve always loathed cooking but tried to tell myself I didn’t by using excuses like, “I enjoy cooking and just hate cleaning the kitchen.”

But no, I would rather clean the kitchen than have to cook dinner. My least favorite three-word sentence now is, “What’s for dinner?”

What I do like is baking. Baking enriches the soul. Cooking dinner not so much. It’s a thankless, repetitive task.

Sisyphus instead of being forced to eternally push a boulder up a hill only to watch it roll back down should have been given the task of cooking dinner every single night during a pandemic. There’s a real Greek God worthy punishment.

I guess it’s also silver lining-ish that I now know what my husband and I will fight about in  retirement. Having both of us home almost 24/7 has resulted in some extremely terse exchanges.

There’s been the melt down over someone (not me) putting condiments in the designated (by me) beverage section of the refrigerator. I can’t be wrong about this because who wants pickle relish and stone ground mustard mixed in with beverages? It’s just not done.

Then there was the sprinkler war. My husband (insert eye roll) doesn’t approve of how I water our yard. (Just to clarify for anyone that is confused right now. We do not have an in-ground irrigation system. This means every summer we’re the fools yanking hoses and sprinklers all over our yard.)

I prefer the sprinklers of my childhood. The ones that sway gently back and forth. My husband likes the lawn spike sprinkler. It’s the kind that shoots out across the yard making a rat-a-tat-tat sound.

There’s also the issue of sprinkler placement. Apparently, I’m lacking in “geographical sprinkler management skills.” This led me to tell my spouse just where he could put his rat-a-tat-tat sprinkler.

We also have fought over fabric softener usage (#TeamFabricSoftener)and utensil placement in the dishwasher. For the love of god, wooden spoons and spatulas go in the top compartment. Why is that so hard to understand?

Wooden spoon drama aside, I’m a little bit impressed with myself that I could find that many silver linings or maybe they’re more like Teflon linings. Good thoughts that won’t stick.

Hands Down on this Display of Affection

I’m going to straight up admit I’m a stalker. But, I’d like to think I’m a stalker with a certain level of panache. This means I don’t stalk my children because in a word – boring. It’s so expected that it has no appeal for me. I prefer to stalk strangers.

Yes, I know this sounds super creepy, perhaps even a “Dateline” episode in the making, so let me explain.

I consider myself a keen observer of human behavior so when I see something that makes me go, “hmm.” I feel it is my duty to investigate. Not investigate by getting all up in people’s business but to observe and think deeply as is befitting a scholar on social interaction.

For example, earlier this month when it was almost 100 degrees with a humidity level so out of control that I felt as if my entire body was being brined in liquid Pepto-Bismol I observed a couple that seemed to be middle age-ish holding hands while power walking in my neighborhood.

My first reaction was yuck. The sheer act of holding hands would be a squishy, high moisture endeavor. It would also take some effort.

The weather wasn’t conducive to any form of lackadaisical hand holding. Thanks to humidity being our new overlord holding hands in this swamp fire would require some serious gripping.

I decided the only course of action I had was to follow, stalk, shadow (go ahead and pick your favorite verb) this couple. My curiosity as to why anyone would willingly hold hands was overriding my extreme discomfort of extending my time out in the heat.

So, off I went, keeping a discreet distance behind them while being amazed that they never let go of each other’s hands. Meanwhile, my hands were busy constantly using my T-shirt to wipe sweat off my face.

I was perspiring so much I didn’t even care that the act of using the bottom of my shirt to soak up my face sweat was exposing my flab rolls which haven’t seen sun in probably three decades.

Because I’m no amateur stalker I was also timing this outing and at 15 minutes in this couple had yet to release their hands. It could have been heat exhaustion causing some sort of delirium, because this is about the time I started singing, “I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner.

I was full on belting out, “I want to know what love is, I want you to show me!”

The reason for this solo musical performance is because I was imagining that this couple must have some great love story. What other reason could there be for the obsessive hand holding?

Then I started feeling sorry for myself – again probably sun stroke related – that I couldn’t imagine a love so great where I would want to hold anyone’s hand while walking in this festering combo platter of 98 degrees with a side of soggy.

At 20 minutes into my stalking caper I had to give up. The couple were still hand in hand and yet I was fully saturated in sweat and crying from the sunscreen that was waving the white flag of surrender and now melting into my eyes.

When I finally got back to my house red faced and near collapse resembling someone who had clawed their way out of a bog I immediately asked my husband if he wanted to go outside and hold hands. He looked at me and said, “That’s a solid no.”

This made me happy because my stalking had taught me that there is perhaps no greater love than someone who shares your feelings about humidity infused hand holding.

Dear Snarky – Coronavirus = Family Fury

*Almost all of the letters I’ve gotten the past several days have, in some way, been about the coronavirus. So, because of this strange time we’re living in I decided to answer a couple of letters this week. Please note these letters have been edited for length and language. 

Dear Snarky,

 I have informed my family that I will not be attending my cousin’s destination wedding over Memorial Day weekend because of Covid-19. This made my aunt lose it and now even my own mother is telling me I’m overreacting because she is sure it will all be over with by May.

But, I don’t want to take any chances and to be honest I’m not really that close to my cousin. She’s always been a bit of jerk. Please give me some courage to stand up to my family.

 Signed, Not Feeling Like a Wedding

Dear Not Feeling,

I think with everything that is happening in the world right now you have every right to make a decision that is tempered with caution and not feel badly about it. Also by giving the bride’s family two months notice it’s not like you’re bailing at the last minute.

I would stay strong and stick by your decision. But remember that the bride and her mom are probably freaking out and worried about possibly having to cancel the wedding, so I suggest treating them with kindness as you stand by your decision.

Dear Snarky,

 My sister’s super shady husband is hoarding Clorox wipes and Lysol. It’s disgusting. He’s the loser you see cleaning off all the shelves at Walmart. I took a picture of the bedroom in his home where he’s stockpiling and I want to post it on social media and shame him. Can you please talk me out of this because I’m this close to letting loose the internet on him?

 Signed, Let’s do This

Dear Lets,

You 100 percent know you can’t do this because it will hurt your sister. The Internet is mean and dangerous and as much as you hate your brothers-in-law’s lack of moral character and concern for public health you can’t unleash the fury of the Internet on her or any children they may have. Trust me when I tell you it will not end well for anyone.

Why don’t you instead start secretly taking some of his stash and donate it to a charity. You got in the room to take a picture so I’m thinking you probably would have the time to take some of the products and try to do some good with them as you wait for karma to kick in.

You could also reach out to law enforcement and see if they would have a come to Jesus talk with your brother-in-law about how his hoarding is impacting public health. If he starts selling any of this stash and price gouging that is against the law and he could be charged under the Deceptive Trade Practices-Consumer Protection Act.

 Dear Snarky,

 We just cancelled our family reunion spring break trip because of the coronavirus and now it looks like some relatives are trying to stick me with the hotel bill. I made the hotel reservations with my credit card back in October and then when everyone was going to check in they would use their own credit card for their rooms.

The problem is when I went to cancel the rooms the hotel hit us with a sizeable cancellation fee that was charged to my card.

 I sent an email to everyone telling them what their room cancellation fee are and now three family members are saying they don’t have to pay me back because I made the room reservations so it’s “on me.”

 I am livid. Any suggestions how I can get my money?

 Signed, Unbelievable

Dear Unbelievable,

Ah family, what a joy. My suggestion is to enlist the other relatives that have paid you to help you harass, cajole, whatever these dead beats to pay up. Their behavior is totally unacceptable and sadly it will harm the dynamics of the family moving forward because nothing ruins family relationships like disagreements over money.

If you have a question for Dear Snarky – advice with an attitude – email me at 😉

Dear Snarky – Help, I Work With Slobs!

Dear Snarky,

I work for a super hip company that has no dress c0e76277b18840f2a65e83f12d2daecc4--office-humor-work-humorode and everyday I’m literally picking my jaw up from the floor when I see what people wear to work. There’s men and women with wet hair. There’s disgusting feet in flip-flops in the middle of winter. More than half of the work force looks like they’re wearing their pajamas and haven’t bathed in days. The smell is so ripe sometimes I feel nauseous. I like my job – a lot – so I need some advice in how to get past working with slobs.

 Signed, Grossed Out at the Office

Dear Grossed Out,

 Ugh, I feel your pain. Grooming is not what it used to be. I totally blame casual Friday which gave birth to no deodorant Monday and free-range foot fungus Thursday. Since you like your job your only recourse is to learn how to accept those things you cannot change.

There’s not a polite way to tell someone they reek nor; can you ask a co-worker to please consider wearing something other than their Star Wars pajama collection. All you can do is be beacon of sanity by continuing to dress like an adult and being a champion of showers, deodorant, and toothpaste.

Take heart some of this will rub off on your co-workers. Every office needs a leader and you, my friend, you hopefully guide others into the fabulous and exciting world of adulting.

P.S. in the meanwhile you can deal with the noxious office B.O. by putting Vick’s Vapor rub under your nostrils. It’s probably best you don’t ask me how I know this.

Holiday Shopping Puzzlers

il_340x270-1.1358738970_n9r8I actually enjoy holiday shopping but sadly my family has ruined it for me. Now, I get lists where all I have do is point and click to their on-line shopping bag. Efficient? Yes. Fun? No. This means the only real shopping I do is for myself because, yes, I buy my own presents.

There are though a few things that puzzle me about shopping in December and one of them is the music being played in stores. Props to Bath and Body Works for their traditional approach in regard to holiday tuneage. Burl Ives gentle crooning on “Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer” is something to be treasured and lulled me into buying yet another “Fresh Balsam” holiday candle. And when Johnny Mathis started singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” I felt duty bound to double up on my “Peppermint Twist” bath gel purchase.

Sadly, the music segued to ghastly at the next store I went into. What’s up current singers butchering a classic? Jingle Bells doesn’t required vocal gymnastics? I’m tone deaf but even I don’t think that “dashing through the snow in a one-horse open sleigh” requires a show-offy take on the lyrics.

Another thing that confuses me are coupon conundrums. Pretty much retail speaking, no matter what store you go into everything is marked down by at least 30 percent. You also then have your digital coupons and loyalty savings for a “joining” the store “club” etc. The problem is that the math required to use your coupons is ACT worthy and presents a mathematical brain teaser.

Can you combine the current discount with your coupon and loyalty card? If the answer is no, you then have to try to figure out what will be cheaper just taking the discounted price or going the coupon route combined with the loyalty reduction? And then what if you return the purchase will you get your loyalty bucks back?

The people who say you never use math once you graduate are fools. I use math every time I shop and not to brag but I can add up what’s in my Target cart and I’m usually not off my more than 15 cents. It still amazes my kids. My son once asked me how can I do that but not know basic algebra? I told him my skill set was “everyday math.”

Holiday shopping also woos me to make dumb decisions. As in I recently bought a hat. Not a hat to wear when I walk my dogs, but a fashion statement hat. A beret to be exact. J Crew had all these cute berets laid out on a counter and the fact that they looked like giant macaroons might have influenced my decision to buy one. (I was hungry.) As soon as I attempted to wear my beret in public, I felt very self-conscious, like the people might be feeling sorry for me kind of self-conscious.

I just don’t have the face or the head for a beret. But, then not two days later I was seduced by a fedora at Anthropolgie. It didn’t help that some very lovely young ladies were in the store wearing fedoras. I decided to give it try and let’s just say it wasn’t for me.

I was bummed. I want to be the kind of woman who can pull off a hat. But then I started thinking positive about my beret. I was going to wear it but only when I go out with my daughter. At 18 she’ll be mortified to see me styling a huge hot pink wool macaroon that’s perched on my head at a very jaunty angle. Hmm, maybe that beret wasn’t such a bad purchase after all.



A Dear Snarky Holiday Buffet

So many Christmas conundrums. So little time. In an attempt to help spread some holiday happiness I bring you a trio of letters. Let’s hope my answers deliver a soupçon of seasonal sanity to your family gatherings.

Screen Shot 2018-12-17 at 10.12.49 AMDear Snarky,

My mother-in-law spoils my children and goes overboard with presents. I’ve told her to stop but she won’t listen to me. I don’t think I can handle another Christmas where she’s trying to one up my husband and I in the gift department.

 Signed, Present Overkill

Dear Overkill,

Calm yourself and count your blessings. It’s a grandmother’s prerogative and great joy to spoil her grandchildren. If your kids are drowning in presents, I suggest discreetly donating some of the goodies to charity after the first of the year. P.S. Quit looking so hard for something to get your nose out of joint about. There are parents out there that would be THRILLED for their kids’ grandparents to so much as send a card.

Dear Snarky,

My weirdo and single sister actually expects us to buy a gift for her dog. She says her dog is like her child and since she buys presents for my four kids all the time, we can get her dog something.

Signed, No Way

Dear No Way,

Umm, no way, I say, yes way. Drag yourself off of your high horse and go get your sister’s dog a $10 chew toy and get over yourself. Also, being a pet lover and a single doesn’t make you a weirdo. It probably makes you very happy.

Dear Snarky,

My in-laws make the whole family go to Midnight Mass and I think it ruins Christmas morning for my kids (ages 8 and 10) because they’re so tired the next day. How do I get this tradition to stop?

 Signed, Not a Fan 

Dear Not a Fan,

Grab some caffeine and accept this hard truth. Midnight Mass isn’t going anywhere, and you know where you’re going – uh huh, that’s right to Midnight Mass. So, suck it up, have your kids take a nap and deal with traditions that are older than you are.

*I hope your holidays are drama free BUT if they’re not you know where to send your letter. 😉

I Finally Got a Clue

clue-boardMy family loves board games. Well, that’s actually a lie. The truth is my daughter loves board games and forces us to play them with her. This is why on Thanksgiving while feeling very uncomfortably full or as my Southern relatives like to call it “tick stuffed” (yeah, I know – yuck) we all settled in for a not so riveting game of Clue.

Clue was bad when I played it with my kids when they were in elementary school and they fought over who was going to be Colonel Mustard. But playing it with four adults is mind numbing. The game has zero excitement. It’s not like Scrabble where you get all jazzed when you get a Q and a U, and that triple word score is wide opening and waiting or even Life with the cool spinner thing or Monopoly where you’ve got money and houses to keep you awake. Heck, I’ll even take the game Are You Smarter Than a 5thGrader? over Clue which, spoiler alert, apparently, I am not.

My son, for years, has managed to avoid playing board games, but this Thanksgiving even he fell prey to his just home from college sister’s pleas. As we settled in to play, I was already miffed because

I got stuck with the maid token – Mrs. White. I already felt like a servant after cooking a Thanksgiving dinner and then cleaning the kitchen with some very lackluster family assistance. I wanted to be the erudite Professor Plum but someone (cough, cough, my husband) got to him first and wouldn’t relinquish him.

My mood didn’t approve when I kept on getting lame rolls of the dice and for some reason the game dragged on longer than usual. In what universe does it take more than 15 minutes to play Clue? Usually it’s seven minutes max before it’s Miss Scarlett in the conservatory with the rope.  When I asked why the game was never-ending the response, I received rattled my entire world.

It seems for my entire life I had not only been playing Clue wrong but had also taught my children a half-baked or “sketchy way” to play the game. My son, after 22 years of being on this earth, had actually read the directions to the game and for the first time in my life I was playing it the correct way.

He basically had me at “read the directions.” Who reads the directions to Clue? The game is self-explanatory. You roll the dice, mark some stuff down and then make a guess. Who needs directions for that? Well, apparently, I did.

But, was it really my fault we had been playing it wrong for years? My own mother had taught me how to play Clue. How could she be wrong? Hmm, could that be the issue? Did my mom teach me an abbreviated version to get the game over with faster so she could continue on her way with all her other mom duties?

Within seconds I immediately knew that’s how it must have went down. What mom in 1973 had time to play a long-winded game of Clue. Heck, the microwave hadn’t even been invented yet. I’m sure she jettisoned the directions for a mom version that would get her in and out of the game in under 10 minutes. I had then, unknowingly, carried on the tradition.

Instead of feeling betrayed I was bowing to my mother’s genius and wondering what other 70’s parenting hacks she had employed. I do remember that Monopoly went by rather fast and sometimes she thought there was a gas leak in the house and for our safety she told us it was best everyone played outside for h-o-u-r-s.

Oh, well-played, mom. Well played.

Is It Really Christmas Without a Hallmark Holiday Movie?

Fake snow, meeting cute, and the classic two second end of movie smooch means Christmas is here and warning I’ll throw down with anyone who doesn’t agree with me.


 Being an influencer is a huge deal right now.  You’ve got your YouTube influencers that include people with make-up tutorials that teach you how to do the “perfect face” which really bothers me because who wants to use 23 different cosmetic products and take two hours before you can leave the house? Never mind all that blending of seven different foundations. I want to live my life, not spend it seamlessly merging liquid and powder concealers and inner eye shimmer. And then there’s the fashion and foodie influencers and on and on.  All of this kind of makes me mad, because I was an influencer before it was a thing.

Case in point, I feel like I’m single handedly responsible for the current Hallmark holiday movie craze because I was a fanatical Hallmark holiday movie watcher before those movies were cool.  18 long years ago I was watching Hallmark holiday movies and enthusiastically proclaiming their greatness in the face of friends and family giving me the side eye.

But did I care? No, because “Special Delivery” staring Andy Dick (yes, comedian Andy Dick, in a sweet movie full of hope and redemption – go figure?) or “The Flight of the Reindeer” featuring the cinematic talents of Beau Bridges and Richard Thompson proving that reindeer really can fly should be celebrated by all of humanity with a box of Kleenex and a side of gingerbread.

Yes, I know for all you new converts that it’s hard to fathom that there was ever a Hallmark holiday movie made without the acting talents of Lacey Chabert or Candace Cameron Bure. But I can assure you, back in the day the movies were made without the allure of 80s and 90s TV stars. Totally mind-blowing, right? But for true hardcore Hallmark holiday aficionados this is our truth.

The whole Hallmark bandwagon started to blossom in 2011 when the networked launched their “Countdown to Christmas.” Before you could say, “Jingle Bells,” people were hooked and acting like they had discovered holiday paradise when, in fact, it had been around for a solid decade.

I can remember the moment like it was yesterday. I was at a party when two women dressed in “This is my Hallmark Christmas movie watching shirt” dared to attempt to one up me about Hallmark movies. I wasn’t having it, not one bit. One of the women, who I’m sure was a little tipsy on spiked eggnog, spouted off about how the first Hallmark holiday movie was “Matchmaker Santa.” Are. You. Kidding. Me.? Just because it starred Lacey Chabert before her, some would say, overzealous Botox injections doesn’t mean it was the first Hallmark holiday movie. I know for a fact that movie is from 2012.

I got in both of those women’s faces and let them know that they were frauds in their Hallmark shirts, nothing more than wannabes. I told them that I have been “Hallmarking” for almost two decades.

I was there when the sets were tacky, and it looked like they were filming all their interiors in an abandon Sears. I was there when the Christmas décor looked like Hobby Lobby rejects purloined from the 75 percent off bin and all the fake snow had a hint of beige like it was a cast-off from a Christmas carnival. I was a loyal fan when all the actors looked like they did their own hair and makeup. How can anyone forget the 2004 “Single Santa Seeks Mrs. Claus” when poor Crystal Bernard’s hair looked like she was wearing a wig made from the straw in Rudolph’s stall. If ever there was a cry for a deep conditioning treatment and a stylist who knew their way around a round brush this was it.

To say I unloaded my Christmas bucket would be an understatement. But it had to be done. Hallmark holiday movies, most shot in the summer and made in about a month, starring a 42-year-old Candance Cameron Bure (aka Her Royal Highness of Hallmark) as a twentysomething spunky up and coming executive should be respected. They’re all future classics. 50 years from now, forget about “A Wonderful Life” because weary mothers will be watching “Snowmance” from 2017 pondering the fashion choices (Why all the flannel?)but never questioning the plot where a snowman comes to life and turns out to be, of course, the most perfect man ever.

Pass me the hot coca because I’ll drink to that all month long.