12 days of Christmas – #11 Hollister Ann Grant

OK, it’s day two (aka #11) of our Christmas countdown and today I am handing over SMoD&L to the wonderful Holly ‘Hollister’ Grant. Some of you might have read her spine-tingling TRUE post back in October for Halloween. If not, you can check it out here. But today, nothing quite so serious. Over to the appropriately named, Holly…

Hubby and the Christmas Decorations

Hollister Ann Grant

On the first day of Christmas, Hubby, my true love, said to me, “I invited my parents for Christmas week.”

So I spent the next twelve days scrubbing the cat barf off the dining room carpet (you cat owners know what I mean—let’s get real here). I vacuumed and dusted and washed everything in the house, and then I rushed outside to trim the hedges and rake up leaves and dash to the florist for Christmas flowers.

The florist stared at me. “You have an earthworm in your hair.”

And then I shopped for a bigger, better turkey, and ambrosia and cranberry relish and the Burn ‘N Serve rolls and Christmas mints, and cat barf and worms aside, I was almost ready. I want to point out that Hubby doesn’t do anything. Ever. Oh, that’s not strictly true. Hubby pours the drinks and carves the turkey.

Just before they arrived, Hubby put on his Christmas sweater and posed in the hall.

“How do I look?” he asked.

“Like the cover of Hubby Magazine,” I told him.

The first night, while Hubby windbagged it up with his parents, I cooked the dinner, set the table, and served the food, and after they slurped it all down, I cleaned Said Same Table again and scrubbed the pots until my fingers looked like boiled turkey bones.

And that was it for Hubby. He deserved what was coming to him after ten years of sitting on his buttocks while I played holiday slave. I took his favorite Christmas ornaments, Nascar Santa with the Hooters Elves, and the glass snowman his parents gave him when he was a little kiddy poo, and I ground them up in the turkey stuffing.

Yes, I did. So I’m a bad person. So sue me. Then, because it would take out all three of them, I chucked the glassy goop in the trash, came up with a smarter plan, and joined them in the living room.

“Oh, there you are,” Hubby said. “We’re decorating the Christmas tree.”

“Where’s our little baby snowman?” Mother Dear asked Hubby.

Hubby, Sr. stuck his nose in. “And Nascar Santa. I can’t find that guy.”

“They’re here somewhere,” I told Hubby. “You put them away last year.”

I always do that, too, but Hubby nodded and took the credit.

“They’ll turn up.” He grabbed the angel for the top of the tree. “I need something to stand on. Damn thing just shocked me! Almost got electrocuted.”

“Here, take this.” I gave him the wet bucket I’d used to mop the floor.

“He’s too tubby for that,” Mother Dear said. “Use the chair.”

Hubby waved at me. “Hand me those lights. Let’s string the tree.”

I handed him the lights, all right. I wrapped a strand around his neck.

“Hey, hey, hey! I can’t believe this.” Hubby ripped the cord out of my hands. “These bulbs are burned out!”

No favorite Christmas decorations or husbands were harmed in the writing of this story. May your Christmas be merry and filled with good food, laughter, and the best of company.

***

Hollister Ann Grant is the author of Haunted Ground: Ghost Photos from the Gettysburg Battlefield, a nonfiction guidebook about the bloodiest fight in the American Civil War, and Lost Cargo, a science fiction and fantasy novel. Holly’s dark fiction series Shadow Stations will debut in early 2012. She lives in Pennsylvania.

UK Amazon links:

Haunted Ground:

Lost Cargo:

Thanks Holly! Men, watch out!

Tomorrow, we have the brilliant Matt Posner!

Saffi

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