Ho, ho, ho!

I'm trying to force someone I know and love to get into the Christmas spirit. First I told him that I'd be home in Athens for the holidays, a warm body for him to cuddle by his side [in this 70 degree winter chill], a loving girlfriend to keep close as the holiday doldrums attempt to hit each and every one of us swiftly below the belt.

This news was not taken as excitedly as I'd wished. Hmmff.

Next plan? Get a Christmas tree! Decorate it while Bing Crosby and Nat King Cole make us filled with dreams of sugarplum fairies!

It just so happened that I bought the tree by myself. (See earlier post.) GrinchyBoyf (TM) did seem a bit disappointed when I told him I'd done so ("I thought we were going to do that together!") but expressed zero interest in decorating it with me. You see, the lad just doesn't celebrate Christmas in that cheesy way I do. I get overly excited and overwhelmed with countdowns and lights and icicles (Chris would have me call them by their collective name, "tinsel") and the sheer anticipation. Jim doesn't go for this. Not one ounce of it.

Today I ended up half-forcing him to "want" to help me put the lights on the tree. By the time he said he would and that he "wanted" to help, I rejected his offers. Hours later, we were both in our element: he relaxed before a show by watching the classic Christmas heartwarmer, Letters from Iwo Jima, whilst I decorated the tree in jean shorts in mid-December. Guess we came to a compromise after all.