By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher
Just look at him. Mr. Kaminski is so happy decking the halls despite the chaos.
Well, it happened again, and it happens every post-Thanksgiving just like clockwork. For the record, I’m not talking about Black Friday sales. I’m talking about Mr. Kaminski channeling Clark Griswold and Christmas exploding all over my house. It’s a thing, and it gets serious every year.
The genesis of the Christmas chaos goes something like this:
“Simply because we own a particular décor item does not mean we must incorporate it into our holiday decorations.” This is me.
“We have it. We might as well use it.” This is Mr. Kaminski. And so it begins.
Now I must confess, just like Clark, Mr. Kaminski’s intentions are pure and quite joyful. He loves the “hoop” and “la” of the season. He is the very spirit of the season. If it sparkles, twinkles, blinks, sings or moves, he’s putting it out – in spades. It’s the blinking part that makes me crazy. I do not like the blinking. I feel like I’m stroking out, and it makes me exceedingly cranky. Hence, he has given on the blinking issue. That’s one for me; 99 for him.
The first casualty of the decorating debacle is typically lights that refuse to do their job – which is light. I literally have to remind Mr. Kaminski to check the lights on every dang thing before he begins to place, decorate or hang. And there’s always a light failure, which is anything but light. The light loss tends to be epic.
Next, he will send me on a quick errand – one of many – to the store to purchase new lights, extension cords, garland – whatever is not lit. Upon my return, Mr. Kaminski always indicates that I have purchased the incorrect item, even when in anticipation of his response, I have purchased every single type, brand and quantity of said item. It’s a thing.
The next casualty is the broke – not woke – broke. It’s ornaments, figurines, trees – you name it. There’s a lot of broke, which always results in extreme distress. I have yet to shed a tear over a broken Christmas anything. I own a hot glue gun. Mr. Kaminski takes the broke quite personally. There have been ceremonies.
The fait accompli of the elaborate embellishments is the annual blowing of an electrical breaker. Here’s where it gets tricky.
“Did you plug your hot rollers in today?” queries Mr. Kaminski.
“Yes,” my curt response, as I know where this is going.
“Well, are they old ones? You tripped the breaker.”
Two hundred strands of lights, a half dozen animated deer, multiple Christmas trees, a hundred feet of garland and ten lighted wreaths, and my hot rollers tripped the breaker? Really? It’s his mantra, and he’s sticking to it.
You see years ago, I did employ a set of hot rollers from the 1990s, and there was a small, tiny, miniscule fire at our house. Mo City FD didn’t even show up; I handled it. And yes, breakers and such got tripped. Now, any time there is an electrical issue, it’s on me and my hair.
Y’all pray for Mr. Kaminski this holiday season, because if he continues with his war against my hot rollers, it’s not going to be a holly, jolly Christmas for him. And it will likely be holidays in the dark as power surges continue due to his Christmas chaos. See y’all next week – on the porch! Ho, ho hugs!
Patti Parish-Kaminski
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