The moment has arrived, friends. Today, I engage in a bi-annual battle with my husband, Doo, as part of the ongoing “Tinsel War.” Launched in 1996, the conflict essentially pits my Christmas traditions against Doo’s, with me insisting that a tree is essentially naked without the glittery beauty of shredded faux-aluminum. Doo disagrees. Vehemently. To keep this marriage alive, we decided long ago to alternate our tinsel years so that each of us can relive the holiday magic of our childhoods precisely as we remember, at least every other December.
The problem is that going without tinsel is easier on me than incorporating tinsel is on Doo. He can’t stand the application (which I insist is done in a precise, systematic manner to ensure proper coverage and consistency), the mess (which admittedly dominates the main floor for as long as the tree stands) or the idea of finding tinsel in our vacuum, couch and the occasional shoe until July. Although I may enjoy a stunning tinsel-frosted Frazier this year, I’ll also have to deal with Mr. Grinch and his incessant complaining. Even worse, Doo has somehow indoctrinated our two sons into agreeing with him! I still have the girls on my side, but all this bah-humbugging makes me want to literally shove tinsel up their Ebenezers.
We’ll see how it goes. Doo’s forces have taken hits with Boy No.1 away at college and Boy No. 2 hunkered down with a cold. But should he muster some sort of resistance, I’ve devised a clever, snow-flaking maneuver that will result in heavy male losses. H,o ho, ho.
Let the 11th battle of the “Tinsel War” commence! Peace out.
