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November 5, 2005

Christmas decorations, the Penthouse Forum version

During the week I try to keep it on the up-low here, with jokes about my mushmouth-sized hats and painfully un-nutritious breakfast foods. But on the weekends no one is on these internets reading this stuff, so I can be totally honest with ya'll. I'm sure both of you will appreciate it.

Today I am going to finally deal with Christmas.

That isn't a metaphor -- I'm not that deep. I really am going to deal with Christmas, and the seven green Rubbermaid tubs of holiday decorations that are living in my garage. Ten years of married holiday purchases sat there rotting in their little tubs all last year, and now it's time to finally sort it and put the chaff aside for strangers to paw and buy for a quarter at the next yard sale.

Memories. Just twenty-five cents! Get your memories here!

I'm keeping only the 1950s tinsel tree that I got on eBay and the few ornaments I hand-made for it. Mr. X was never fond of said tree. Everything else in those tubs was purchased with him in mind, or with our home in mind. Some of the decorations are actually his from before we were married.

I'll box those up and send them to him. It's the right thing to do. Although my inner asshole tells me to write a letter to go with the box, I won't.

I want to say:
"Dear Mr. X, remember the many years we hung these ornaments on our tree? Remember the year we brought home a 7-foot Douglas Fir on the top of your car and couldn't figure out how to get it up the condo stairs? Remember the time Sobakowa knocked over a fully-decorated tree and we just laughed? And the stockings? Remember how I sewed them from soft cotton velvet, making each one special and sewing a tiny note in the lining of each cuff? Now I kind of hate you and wish you a holiday full of herpes and Avian Flu. Love, Laurie."

I don't really hate him, to be honest. I just hate those Christmas stockings, and what they represent. Each minute spent making my own pattern, cutting the fabric, sewing them up like the Perfect Wife I had hoped to become. I hate that he left me and never looked back. I hate that he got to walk out, with only the posessions of his choice and make a new life, and I was left to sort through ten years of our collective stuff, and the cornerstone of my divorce settlement is four cats and a shitload of Christmas junk.

But I love that I am finally able to deal with Christmas. That pile of green plastic bins has been haunting me every day since I moved to my new house. I'm glad I have the cats. I'm glad I have my soul intact, and he has (maybe? herpes?) nothing but an unmarked postal services box of meaningless holiday decorations, sent to him by his ex-wife, his badge of failure.

I really dread the holidays.

So, there's that.

And I have a collection of Barbie dolls, many many Barbie dolls, all boxed away in my garage ... most of them given to me by Mr. X, all still pristine in the box. Can anyone suggest a children's charity, a place where I could take these dolls and give them to kids who would love them? Yeah, I could sell them on eBay. But I need to do something to redeem my shriveled heart. Maybe some little girl will get a kick out of a collector's edition Paleontologist Barbie? Some kid will think the French Dentiste Barbie he bought me in Marseille is cool?

Posted by laurie at November 5, 2005 12:03 AM