{ 11 17 2009 }

Twinkle Lights & Tickle Fights

On Friday night I stopped at Target on my way home to buy dog food. Just dog food. I strolled through the many aisles dedicated to the holiday season, filled with candy and wreaths and wrapping paper and food and Santa hats. When I rounded the corner with my cart, I squealed upon seeing all the artificial Christmas trees for sale, complete with a wide selection of ornaments arranged by color scheme.

As much as all the perfectly shiny color-coordinated ornaments excited me, I hesitated–it is mid-November. Until I saw two other girls my age staring lustfully at the ornaments too.

I walked up between them, my head cocked in wonderment at all the beauty. The three of us stood there in a neat line gazing at row after row of reasonably priced boxes. It was glorious.

After I had been there for a minute, I turned to the friendlier-looking girl on my right.

“Hey, I tell you what. If you buy a bunch of ornaments, I won’t judge you for it, and if I buy a bunch of ornaments, you don’t judge me for it. Deal?”

She burst out laughing. The sound of validation.

“I don’t know,” she said. “My husband would kill me if I bought a tree so early.”

“Eh. So what. He’ll be mad at first, but then he’ll be in the Christmas spirit once you have the tree up and it will be fine!”

She laughed again. I could tell she was giving in.

“I bought my first house, so I’m putting an artificial one in the bedroom and a real one downstairs. If your husband gives you a hard time, tell him it’s not like you’re buying TWO trees like that crazy girl you met at Target.”

She smiled at me, then reached for a box of white and silver ornaments.

I turned to the other girl on my left, who had clearly been eavesdropping. “What about you?” I asked.

“My husband would be really mad too…”

“Eh. It’s Christmas! The season of merriment toward your fellow man! Isn’t it a good thing to start the season two or, ehm, three weeks early?”

She didn’t look convinced. Hmph. A Grinch, I see. I didn’t care. My future tree wasn’t going to color-coordinate itself.

I lost myself in choosing the right tree (six-foot tall Canadian fir,
$25(!!)) and ball ornaments in the perfect shades of burgundy, ruby red, and gold. [It wouldn’t be until I got home that I realized I had picked the house colors of Gryffindor, which only made my tree glow that much more with awesomeness.] A big gold-colored bow would go on top instead of a star, I decided. Being a non-religious person, I celebrate the consumer’s Christmas of elves and reindeer, not the Christian Christmas of Jesus and angels.

Then of course, there are twinkle lights. No tree is complete without twinkle lights. I am the queen of twinkle lights. The front of my townhouse will be covered with all sorts of jazzp patterns and pretty colors, twinkling in time to “We Wish You a Booze-Filled Christmas.” Considering how lazy I can be, there is an excellent chance I will be That Neighbor who leaves her twinkle lights up–and on–all year long. Heh. I’m excited just thinking about it. Take THAT, Douchebag Neighbor who reported my non-regulation-sized dog to the HOA.

While I explored all the aisles loaded with ornaments, I listened to a new girl nearby trying to talk her boyfriend into buying a tree. The BIG tree. The $200 tree. Damn. She and her boyfriend were getting into a heated argument. He didn’t want a tree at all, especially if he had to pay for the most expensive one in the store.

It happens every Christmas season, the young couple fighting about trees and ornaments. I had never witnessed however a fight of this magnitude. I stayed near this couple so I could shamelessly eavesdrop.

The boyfriend eventually gave in, and damn was he pissed about it. As whiney and princess-sounding as his girlfriend was, I would have dumped her ass right there and made her buy her own fucking tree.

As I pushed my overloaded cart away from the holiday section (I was not afraid to propel the large cardboard box barely fitting on the top of my car toward any children who dared cross my path), I ran into the first girl I had spoken to, a much smaller tree box under her arm. She looked at me sheepishly.

“I figured he won’t be so mad at me if I get a miniature tree.”

“WHAT?! What nonsense! If he’s going to be mad, go big! Get a six-footer! An eight-footer! Go for the gold, girl!”

She laughed in amusement. I could tell she was thinking about it. I smiled to myself–clearly an evil genius–as I pushed my heavy cart toward the much-anticipated selection of holiday knee socks on the other side of the store.

Normally shopping every year for a few new ornaments kind of bums me out because I’m alone. This year it was different. I didn’t have to worry about a husband being mad that I bought a tree in mid-November, or begging him to let me get the exact tree I want. I got whatever the fuck I wanted. Three weeks earlier than when most people do the same. Back when I moved into my house–MY house–I decided that I wanted to have two Christmas trees from now on. Not just because I have the space, but because I can.

And yet–

I want to be a part of one of those adorable young couples who are “arguing” about silver vs. gold, little lights vs. big lights, Simpsons vs. Transformers (um, both). I want to sit in the cart with my boyfriend at the ready, having challenged a pair of kids to a shopping cart race in the middle of the store. I want to have someone join me in my yearly tradition of watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation while decorating the tree and drinking hot chocolate. I WANT A FUCKING TICKLE FIGHT. Is that really too much to ask for? GOD.

Being realistic now: having someone special does not guarantee that Christmas will be all tickle fights and Snuggie-cuddles and pecan pies [pronounced puh-cahn, you silly northerners]. Last year I was dating Tex at this time, and I wrote a post about how I missed proving once again that I can carry a huge-ass fucking tree by myself. It’s one of my little yearly triumphs, doing everything by myself–and getting an eight-foot tall tree to stand up straight in a stand by oneself is no easy task, I assure you.

Even though Tex was there last year, he wasn’t in the mood to help me decorate my tree or watch my favorite Christmas movie while I decorated it myself. That kind of spoiled it for me. I bit my lip and I waited until the next day to do it all myself when he wasn’t there.

When I put up the artificial tree in my bedroom this weekend, it was fun (there, um, may have been singing and dancing involved) but it didn’t feel as special as I hoped. I told myself that this was because it didn’t have any of my favorite ornaments on it, but honestly? Come on. As much as I’m happy that I get to enjoy all the freedom of being single, sometimes it sucks so much that all the twinkle lights in the world can’t make me smile.

Posted by Over Educated Nympho on Tuesday, November 17th, 2009, at 5:18 am, and filed under singledom, brooding.

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