“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“What?”
“Look around you- just for a second. What do you see?”
"I see… a home decorated for Christmas.”
“To the untrained eye that’s exactly what it would appear to be. Right out of Better Homes and Gardens, right?”
“Well… yeah.”
“You know what I see? I see a collection of objects, each one painstakingly thought over, considered and placed as if staging a murder scene- like anything not quite perfect would lead the viewer to know the truth.”
“What… are you talking about?”
“These aren’t decorations- they’re props. And that sickeningly cute snowman sweater she’s wearing isn’t just jolly attire- it’s a costume. She’s playing the role of the happy woman at Christmas time hosting her family but just under the surface? A maniacal, crazed woman cracking at the edges.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?”
“Seriously- look at this. What do see?”
“A nativity.”
“Really? Look a little closer. See it now?”
“Nope, still looks like a nativity.”
“Get your nose right up against the cradle there- there you go. Now, look.”
“Are these… did she carve these herself?”
“Yup.”
“Dear god, why?”
“Because the one that she special ordered from the store wasn’t oak wood- it was cedar. Cedar stains, she explained to me. So she ordered the wood and hand carved each tiny little figure, then painted and sealed them. Because that’s the only way it would be perfect.”
“Holy… how long did it take her?”
“Four months. And that’s just for the nativity. That wreath on the door you just walked past? She made that herself, collected each little twig, weaved them together, hand painted each tiny little needle so it would look like it had fresh snow on it. And those stockings? Hand knitted from scratch- no pattern, no book- just started and kept on re-knitting till they were prefect. And that Christmas pyramid behind you-“
“I get it. So don’t touch anything, is your point.”
“Yeah, that would be it. And for the love of God don’t ask her about any of it or we’ll never get out of here alive. As soon as she starts talking about it she goes back to childhood memories and starts crying.”
“Uh-huh. So this is what you meant when you warned me about your mom being crazy for Christmas, huh?”
“Yup. Aren’t you glad you married me?”
At first I thought this was someone talking a burglar out of robbery. Then I thought it was about you talking yourself out of anxiety. Wrapped up cutely when the voice of passivity mentioned marriage.
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