Bill and I have been behind since I got really sick after dental implant surgery.  And then there was the remodel which lasted all summer–and the subsequent painting projects.

So I wanted to simplify for Christmas.  I told Bill I was going to buy a tree with the lights already on it.

“No!”  He ordered.  “Don’t do that.  We can’t afford it.”

“Okay,” I said meekly.

Yeah, right, Buster.

I went up to Wal-Mart and they had $30 5′ trees with lights.  I bought one and brought it home, setting the box in the front room.  Bill came home, walked in, took one look at that tree and blew up.

“I told you not to do that.”

“You’re not the boss of me.”

“Well, I do the tree and I don’t mind doing the lights and we already have a tree so if you do that one, you do it yourself.”  Slams out.

We made up the next day, and I said I’d like to have just white lights on the tree this year and since he felt bad for yelling at me, he agreed.  So I took the little pre-lit tree back and bought 9 boxes of lights for the old tree.    And I’m going to sit there while he puts the lights on the tree and I’m going to say, “I don’t think that’s enough lights.  I’ll run up and get some more while you’re working.”

And I’m going to get some more lights.

And I’m going to put just a few red balls and bows on the tree and when I take them down, I’m going to let that tree sit and watch him take those lights down.

And I bet you $20 he agrees to get a pre-lit next year.

He’s senile and he’s forgotten that he always complains while he does the lights.

This is how senile he is:

I make hamburger gravy and put it on mashed potatoes, it’s something the kids liked, it was cheap and easy and good.  I’ve made it for 25 years.

I made some the other day and left it on the stove because he was late getting home.  The table was set and I said, “just get your dinner, hon, it’s on the stove.”

He looks at it and says, “what is this?”

“Hamburger gravy, the potatoes are in the pan with the lid.”  (I make killer mashed potatoes, lots of butter and whipped cream.”

“How do you fix it?”  He asks, “Do you just pour this stuff over the potatoes?”  He’s looking skeptical about this food.

“Bill!”  I say in exasperation, “We always have hamburger gravy!”

“I don’t remember ever having it.”

I don’t even bother to argue.  Last week we were all talking around the table at a family dinner and we were talking about sourdough and I mentioned that I’d made sourdough bread and pancakes for years and he said, “I don’t remember that.”

A couple of days later, I brought it up and he said, “I remember your sourdough pancakes.” And I just stared at him and he asked, “how come you look at me that way now?”

So, anyway, he makes his plate up and sits down and eats the hamburger gravy and says, “boy, this is pretty good.  You should make it more often.”

I mentally gave him a good hard slap up the side of the head, hoping to revive those dying brain cells.