Spitting and furious, I flung my six pound fake fur coat on, snagging my freshly sprayed hair and stomped from our horribly cluttered apartment, heedless of my dressy open-toed heels.
Lead-footing the accelerator I forced our old beater through a Denver snowstorm to my job where all my hard work would most be appreciated. All that I cram into my busyness for others, and what thanks do I get? Do more! Now! At least I would get Holiday pay for straightening out the computing mess that some idiot managed to foul through a haze of too much celebratory smuggled in rum-soaked eggnog the night before.
Christmas Eve. Humbug didn't begin to describe my snarling Holiday frustration. Canned
Christmas carols for twenty five slushy nasty miles. Big fat snowflakes splatting against my cracked windshield, with wipers whining importantly, smearing dry dirt with wet snow to aggravate me all the way to my lonely office...
Hours later, my crankiness dissipated through having unravelled the glitched computer threads that would have exacerbated my Holiday lack of joy through to New Year's Day. Greedily soothing my disgruntled spirits with overly sweetened hot instant microwaved coffee and a desk drawer crammed full of sticky leftover Halloween treats, I turned my thoughts to why I fled from my cozy warm nest to sit here alone in my empty loveless office just before the big day filled with everyone's dependence on my cooking, cleaning, wrapping...repeat repeatedly. sigh.
Okay. Grow up. No demanding and ungrateful children to spoil. Just a stubborn cranky husband who knows all my buttons, and diabolically, he pushed every horrid one of them. I slaved so long to make everything Christmassy for him! Where was his open-mouthed praise-filled gratitude? If he really truly loved me, he would have, at the very least, pitched in and helped me clean this wreck?
Remorseful repentance rears its lovely head. What is Christmas about anyway? Jesus, the Christ came that we could have life through Him - and have it abundantly. Not abundantly foul-tempered and whiningly angry! Would He be thrilled with my lack of Holiday Spirit, my selfish me me me histrionics? Nope. Time to quietly lock up, go home and repair the damages.
I have s snow frosted car! I could see the headlines now: "Remorseful Foolish Woman Frostbites Toes and Fingers While Digging Car Out of Snowbank With Bare Hands!"
Okay - not quite that stupid. Within slogging distance is a well lit hotel, ablaze with holiday displays to dazzle my clumping foot-thunks to its welcoming entrance. I now love my suffocatingly fake fur coat! Oh my poor feet...
So cold. So far to go. Snow is still falling - so sparklingly beautiful but so terribly bone-chilling. But I finally made it to the doors. Thank you for loving even the extremely foolish, Lord.
I was hustled inside to a cushy chair facing a blazing fire, fussed over and pampered with hot eggnog and very sympathetic ears. Helium filled balloons were grandly presented to me, with festive streamers attached. Someone gifted my thawing stinging feet with brand new slipper socks! I wasn't feeling very festive - I was downright depressed and doldrummed. A very kind jolly soul telephoned my hubby, who was rather understandably panicked by now. I meekly asked for his forgiveness - whereupon my beloved begged mine!
Mike and his sister found me being thoroughly pampered by the amused hotel staff. It was after midnight, and therefore officially Christmas Day. They had a Christmas story to tell of a prodigal wife - and now, so do you, dear readers!
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