Upon the arrival of New Year’s Day, the wife is ready to take down holiday decorations and restore order to our home.

I struggle with this. It doesn’t seem right to me. We are heading into the coldest, darkest, most bleak months of the year and we’re supposed to remove everything bright and sparkly? We’re supposed to suck the festive out of the foyer, the tinsel out of the tinkle-torium, and the bulbs out of the boudoir?

So this year I protested. “Honey,” I said to the wife, “I am putting my foot down on this un-decorating thing.” And then I very gently stomped my fleece-lined Croc clogs on the plush living room carpet, rendering a muffled thud.

“Wow!” the wife said, “I almost heard your stomp of defiance, dear. What gives? I am trembling in my bunny slippers.”

“I don’t understand why we have to undeck the halls at a time of the year when we really could use freaking decked halls. January, February and March are heinous months, I tell you, heinous!”

“Uh-oh, someone’s seasonal affected disorder is kicking in. I always know when you use the word heinous it’s time to get out the sun lamp, our Cancun pictures, beer and a bag of cheese curls. You sit down in your man chair and I’ll fix you right up.”

“That sounds real good, but I have a demand,” I said, once again stomping my Croc.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, the wife sat down on the sofa giving me her full attention. “What is it, dear? What is causing all of this Croc-stomping that is ruining the vacuum lines on my plush shag?”

Inhaling deeply through my whistling nose, I said, “I want to keep the electric candles in the windows all year long?”

Gingerly, the wife asked, “and why is that, dear?”

“We can take down all the other Christmas decorations but I want to keep up the window candles. They will bring much needed light to the heinous winter ahead. They will let the outside world know that we’re still here, alive and well in spite of the heinicity of these desolate times. They will be a beacon of hope for the better days ahead.”

I waited for the wife’s reaction.

“Welllll,” the wife said. “I just really like to get rid of …”

With a venomous glare, I raised my angry clog ready to decimate another vacuum line in her plush shag.

“OK, OK, OK,” the wife quickly corrected. “We can leave the window candles up. And you’re right, they truly do bring much needed light for this ‘heinous’ time of year.”

Smiling lovingly I said to the wife, “Thank you, honey. That means a lot. Now, about that beer and cheese curls.”

“Coming right up, dear,” the wife said handing me the Dyson. “Right after you sweep up your footprints and restore the vacuum lines in my plush shag.”

Raul Ascunce is a freelance columnist for the Sentinel-Tribune. He may be contacted at RaulAscunce@gmail.com.

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