Oh, guys. Dear me. I really, really wanted to show up here today with a nice fanfare for the end of NoGwynber, including a lengthy and joke-laden discussion of how "muffins" aren't the only thing I hauled out into the woods, as we also threw some vegan dumplings into a pan full of leftover bacon grease over a Coleman stove:
And also a proper WELCOME BACK to this beautiful bringer of yeast dough:
But the fact is, I do not have either of those things within me today because I am having my own personal full-on Clark-Griswold-Christmas-lights meltdown at the moment and I'm afraid nothing short of a rabid squirrel to the face will pull me out of it again. Actually, the first December Martha project on my list was the entertainingly fussy using of a vacuum cleaner to ensure fake tree spotlessness, but I have so thoroughly bathed the thing in my sweat and tears as to render that step unnecessary at this point.
Basically what happened is, entire swaths of lights had burned out on our tree and it takes a really long time to replace over 100 tiny light bulbs and it takes even longer if you do every single bulb incorrectly on your first attempt and, long story short, life is nothing but a series of really pokey wires and broken dreams.
|DO NOT LOOK DIRECTLY INTO THE HOLES THEY ARE FULL OF DESPAIR|
Good news though! The six hours of jaw-clenching work and actual bloody fingers was SO worth it when this vision of perfect, perfect treehood greeted me around 2:30 am:
|You can't see it in the picture, but the very bottom row of lights is blinking, for comedic effect.|
Know what we do now? The only thing we can do now? Put on the Christmas music and dance it out.