A comedy of errors, Christmas-style

Busy weekend coming up, jellybeans! Listen, I so haven’t even decorated for Christmas yet. I got out the Christmas box o’ stuff. That’s a whole thing in itself, really. It’s this HUGE CRATE. Like, you could put a dead person in this thing. (Or a live person, I suppose, if you want to be less morbid and more Christmassy or whatever.) It’s GIGANTIC. I have a lot of Christmas stuff. The tree isn’t even in there, either. The tree is elsewhere. THERE IS NO ROOM IN THERE FOR THE TREE. That’s how much stuff I have.

It looks very much like this. Very festive, yes?

It looks very much like this. Very festive, yes?

But I have a very very small place. There’s really no room for a body-locker of Christmas-stuff in here. So I have to put it way behind the bed in the corner for most of the year because there’s nowhere else to put it. But then when December rolls around, I have to get it OUT from behind the bed. This takes the following steps, which if someone were to videotape them, I’m quite sure would make it onto YouTube and I would be a SENSATION, I tell you:

  • First, I have to take the crate off from the top of the Christmas crate. That’s another crate. With other things in it. That has to go on the bed; there’s nowhere else to put it.

    And this is the smaller one on TOP of the bigger one. It's like a wee bebeh crate. But full of stuff. So HEAVY.

    And this is the smaller one on TOP of the bigger one. It’s like a wee bebeh crate. But full of stuff. So HEAVY.

  • Then I have to jimmy out the Christmas crate which is jammed between the bed and the wall. There might well be some cussing when this happens. OK FINE. There’s some cussing. Some definite cussing.
  • Once I get the Christmas crate out, I have to make room for THAT on the bed. It’s not like I have a big bed, yo. Why would I have a big bed? Dumbcat and I only need so much room.

    I have no idea what size mattress I have. Twin? Full? Which according to this is double? Maybe? No idea. I need a new one, though. This one's getting all weird and old.

    I have no idea what size mattress I have. Twin? Full? Which according to this is double? Maybe? No idea. I need a new one, though. This one’s getting all weird and old.

  • Then I have to throw the other crate in the place the Christmas crate evacuated. I might throw it a little more vehemently than necessary. And say things like “every YEAR I hate this shit.”
  • Then comes the fun part. There’s a huge armoire and bookcase blocking my bedroom door. Why? Because there’s nowhere else in my insanely small bedroom to put that armoire and bookcase and they’re where I keep things like bedding and pajamas and books and all the perfumes. The armoire and bookcase stop me from just carrying out the crate and bringing it into the living room where it belongs.

    The armoire kind of looks like this, only less stable. It's kind of falling apart. It's a hand-me-down, give me a break.

    The armoire kind of looks like this, only less stable. It’s kind of falling apart. It’s a hand-me-down, give me a break.

  • SO, what I have to DO, is lift up the Christmas crate and put it on TOP of the armoire. The armoire is about 6 feet tall. The crate weighs a kajillion pounds. (FINE, it doesn’t weigh that much. I can lift it over my head. But not without making noises like one of those Russian weightlifters on the Olympics.) So I HOIST it up over my head and put it on top of the armoire. There is more cussing. Out-of-breath cussing.
  • Then I take a break and think about my life and how things have gotten to this point and why EVERY YEAR I put myself through this and do I need a tree? Do I really? Am I SURE? And I sigh DEEPLY.

    ZOMG WHY DON'T I HAVE THIS TREE!?!?!?! A purple tree??? Come on. How awesome is THIS?

    ZOMG WHY DON’T I HAVE THIS TREE!?!?!?! A purple tree??? Come on. How awesome is THIS?

  • Then I get into the hallway and lever down the Christmas crate so that it pins me to the wall like a butterfly in that horrifying yet beautifully-written book about the man who keeps the girl in his basement. Then I have to kind of throw it OFF myself and onto the hallway floor and then clamber over it into the bathroom and then shove it back so I can get around it. It’s about the same width as the hallway, you see.

    Just like this, only less basement-confinement. I don't even have a basement.

    Just like this, only less basement-confinement. I don’t even have a basement.

  • Then I drag it into the dining room. Sorry, “dining room.” I don’t have a formal dining room, what am I, the Queen of England? I have a part of the living room where the table is, is what I have.
  • Then, because there’s no room to get it around the couch (have I not TOLD you guys I live in a place as small as one of those storage areas off the highway where they keep freezers full of shady meat and creepy dolls and rusty farm equipment and such?) I have to lift it up AGAIN and hoist it over the back of the couch and flop it onto the couch cushions. This is where Dumbcat usually is; if I don’t see him or warn him soon enough, he makes a noise like “MEEPMRRR!” because he sees something INCOMING!
  • Then I have to take another breather. This is not for the faint-of-heart, you guys. If you aren’t up to it, maybe you need to move into a bigger apartment and/or make more money and/or not decorate for Christmas.
  • Then I have to come around the couch, move the crate onto the floor in front of couch where it will live for a month or so, and collapse on the couch in a puddle of exhaustion and Christmas-fatigue.

Usually after all this I start decorating, but I haven’t had time yet this year. So the crate has been mocking me. I did open it to get out some wrapping paper earlier in the week, but that’s about it. I HAVE GOT TO GET THIS PLACE DECORATED. There are less than two weeks until Christmas and I have nothing hanging up in here. It’s really shameful.

Then – THEN – once Christmas is over – guess what I get to do?

PUT THE CHRISTMAS CRATE BACK BEHIND THE BED.

I get to do all those steps up there? But in REVERSE. I know. I KNOW. Even THINKING about it is making me tired. And angry. And a little sweaty. Pre-sweaty. Sweaty in advance. SIGH SIGH.

Does anyone want to come over here and decorate for Christmas for me and then when I come home tomorrow it’ll be all done? I really like to have the house all decorated but have no time to do it this year. It’s really the worst.

Ok, off I go – it’s what, Friday? Friday. I got last-minute asked to review a show tonight, so I’m off to the thee-ay-tah. The FANCY theater! A FANCY production! I know. I am kind of amazed and confused as to whose life I might be leading at the moment. I’m fairly sure it’s not mine. It can’t be mine, right?

Happy weekend, everyone! Hope you have the best weekends. Full of all the best things. You deserve it. Promise.

About lucysfootball

I'm not the girl with the most cake. Someday. SOMEDAY. View all posts by lucysfootball

19 responses to “A comedy of errors, Christmas-style

Thank you for commenting! I love your comments and I love you. No, not YOU. Yes, you. If you leave a comment full of jackassery, I'm either deleting or publicly mocking that sucker - so, stop, think, and don't be a douchecanoe. Otherwise, gold star right at the top of your paper! Good job! Kisses!

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