Ok, before I forget, yesterday I threw away a dented can of tomatoes that I just brought home from the store, and went out to get another, non-dented one. See? I told you it's a sickness. Couldn't I have inherited my mother's kleptomania? How about her fear of medium-rare meat? Or even the vampire-ism (not the drinking blood part, but the part where you can't get out of bed till the sun goes down.)
Nope. Just her Dentedcaniosis. (More about this tragic mental health issue HERE.)
I knew my DCD (dented can disorder) had advanced to the next stage when, upon seeing the dent, I didn't even flinch. I just took the can out of the bag, saw the dent, and put my coat back on. This must be what is called "living with your mental disability." Or something.
Well, you know, I suppose it's to be expected that I would get some weird and self absorbing condition to bore people with reports of, as I am getting to the age where I will have to develop some "issue" if only to keep up with everyone else. AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is not the part where you tell me about your problems. (There will never be a part in my life reserved for that activity. Sorry.)
Ok, that's enough of that kind of excitement. In other news, I am having a fake Christmas.
I didn't plan it. It just happened. Ok, ok, I sort- of planned it. One day, I started thinking about the moral implications of supporting a business that profits from killing trees simply because they will look pretty in the living room for a couple of weeks (or if you are like me, for about a month - ok, maybe two.)
After I thought about it, I felt a little more environmentally responsible, but mostly really really tired as I remembered what is involved in scoring a real tree, finding a place for it in the house, battling with the stand, , getting your hands all sticky, swearing, digging out all the decorations in boxes in some hard to reach place, swearing, putting every single one of the bobbles and jingajingabobs on the tree, while standing on something not meant to support that kind of weight, swearing, and then after it's finally finished, struggling to remember to water it now and again. And it was then, at that very moment that I decided THERE WOULD BE NOTHING REAL in my Christmas from now on.
And I have to say, I feel really good about my decision, knowing that all along the plastic manufacturers, who we have to thank for all the faux Christmas everything, were really only trying to do their best to save the trees and the planet and my sanity and and maybe even Santa Claus, who surely is getting too old to bend over a real tree and put presents underneath. However he will have no excuse when he visits my house because my "tree-like decoration" is so small it needs to sit on a table, AND it is so small that there is there is plenty of room left on that table for all the things that good girls who do not kill trees for no good reason deserve. I'm just sayin'.
And if Jesus comes instead of Santa (see previous post) there will be plenty of room for him to turn the water I leave out into wine and whatever other magical things that people who are baptized and don't kill trees and remember how to say the rosary deserve. And of course, they are both welcome in my house, as fake stuff doesn't clutter up the place too much and I'm religiously and holiday-ly inclusive.
Yep. Today I will decorate the outside of my home with nothing at all real, and I'm going to feel pretty damned good about it. Like I always say, nothing beats fake snow, like the real thing, but doesn't threaten you with school cancellations.