Waiting for Santa!

December- when the living room mess becomes less noticeable as the Christmas tree stands tall and majestic in the corner. My living room has become jam-packed with stuff the existence of which has now become questionable. As if this is not disaster enough, it is during Christmas when there will be guests. Good luck all you guests. We will probably put your stuff under the tree. *Evil grin*.

My little one was very excited about decorating the tree that he was after me for putting it up from October itself. If only I had a nickel every time I said ‘No baby, the Christmas tree will be up only in December’ in various frequencies and wavelengths and tones and tunes all through November. So the first weekend of December, the enthusiastic Mom and son that we are, brought the box from the ruins and started tree building. However, my son was blissfully unaware of the pain part of it as he thought a fully decorated tree will knock the door, catwalk into the house and sit where it has to. I had a small discussion with the father and son that setting up a Christmas tree and decorating it involves effort, just like there is for cooked food on the table and fresh clothes in the wardrobe. Some feathers were mighty ruffled with that sentence as I got death stares and a collective walkout in protest.

When I opened the box and unpacked the tree which has a base, screws, and multiple bunches of leaves each having a code, corresponding code on the stem of the tree, and a user manual, the male members of my family had already vanished. Of course they will later invite their friends to see the tree and click pics alongside it, and pretend that they painstakingly built it from scratch, when I will royally stand in some corner like a complete loser. Story of my life my friends, story of my life.

*sigh*

Christmas shopping was a big deal when I was younger because that’s when we got new clothes. Well, nowadays it is a big deal if I don’t buy new clothes. When my son was younger he used to give me company during shopping. Now he is four, all man and can’t stand the sight of apparel stores. The Y chromosome, I tell you. It repels all things good, pretty and pink. Both father and son have to go to that video game store to stare at all the astronomically priced junk. I am like ‘Hey, I bought him snakes and ladders… Jigsaw puzzles, Ludo. …What is wrong with those games? They are cheap too. With this kind of money I could buy some gold you know’.

“Can you race in Ferrari cars with that gold?’ came the prompt response.

Image Courtesy: Here

 Of course, who am I kidding, right?
I just have to take it with a pinch of salt and hold on to my sanity just like I do when there are missing socks. No matter how branded they are, a pair cannot coexist. Then hell breaks loose. I always suggest buying cheaper socks. But, no. Socks have to be branded so when they are lost, you can look at the woman in the house and say punch dialogues like ‘It was a Hush Puppies sock!’ and loud sighs for dramatic effect.And women are considered to be drama queens.

Guys don’t care about any festival, birthday or anniversary. Everything has to be manly for them. How about a Christmas tree with a moustache and a beard? Will someone give me a hand then? If they are wearing a branded shirt, they will not dispose the trash. They will not temporarily put your phone in their pocket because it will make them look fat. They will never have a pair of identical socks. They will never agree with you. They think you are responsible for everything that goes missing. They look at you like you are secretly running a high-security personal website to sell their stupid junk stuff. End of the day, they say that women are complicated.

I can actually see my son’s vocabulary changing with inspiration derived from his Appa.

Past:  ‘Amma where did you put my green crayon’?

Present: ‘Amma where did you MISPLACE my green crayon?’

Future: ‘Where the hell is my green crayon?’

This Christmas, if Santa asks me what I want, I am just going to ask whether I can accompany him.