Size matters

Other than food, we typically don’t do Christmas in a big way. Dale buys and decorates a tree. My tradition is to sit around and watch the action while drinking single malt scotch. The ornaments are a mishmash of family treasures, homemade gifts, impulse buys and beautifully crafted wood ornaments we collected in six years of living in Germany.

To him, size matters. Dale wants the biggest tree this stinking desert has ever seen. Although in recent years, he has re-calibrated his expectations. We downsized when we moved to California, so sadly, his Rockefeller Center days are over. Yes, we live in an expensive state, but look what we save on trees!

In the end, the tree is beautiful, but if it were up to me, I’d skip the whole thing. One year we were burned out and just put a few presents under the coffee table. I loved it.

Other than the tree, we don’t decorate for the holidays. We slap a nutcracker on the mantel and call it Christmas. Last year, our first year in this home, the neighborhood was festooned with shiny objects, so we may go crazy and add some outdoor lights.

Although I don’t help with decorating, I do pack the ornaments back in their boxes after the holidays, so there is work involved. I used to hate that part, but now I like examining the little jewels as I eagerly tuck them into slumber. Oh, how cute! You’re dead to me.

In spite of all his fuss, Dale is a huge procrastinator. For his sisters in Maine, there are still unwrapped presents sitting on the dining room table. I’ve done all I can to prod him along, but it’s out of my hands. And the tree – his pride and joy – has not been purchased yet. He believes it’s wrong to buy before December (um, it’s December) and usually doesn’t get around to decorating it until the week before.

I try to just go with the flow, although if I were a Christmas person, you can be sure this show would be timely and organized. Sometimes it’s hard to believe he spent his career in the Army. However, his easy-going attitude is an antidote for my somewhat obsessive nature.

Gifts aren’t a big deal either. Maybe a few stocking stuffers, a CD, a book, a pair of socks. For California cold, Dale likes lightweight fleece, but he’s hard to fit, and size does matter. He’s 5’6”, and most men’s clothing is way too long for him.

It’s a shame, because he looks really good, if I must say so myself, but clothes seldom fit him properly. I spent some time on the Internet yesterday in search of tops more suitable for his frame. I was trying to keep it a surprise, but I finally caved and decided I would measure Dale’s chest.

He was at his computer, and I said, hey, can you please do me a favor and stand up?

Dale was like, sure. He started to get up, and he could see the tape measure in my hand.

I said, “I’m just going to measure your penis.”

The look on his face was priceless. My whole body still hurts from laughing so hard. It hurts now. He really almost lost it. I said, oh, just kidding. I need to measure your chest.

Several hours later, I was still laughing, snorting actually, and he gave me the high-five. Humor always wins. Our 40th anniversary is this month, so I guess we’re doing something right.