I'm getting harassed by the readers of this blog to post a new entry. Apparently the Halloween posting is getting stale (personally, I could look at a picture of candy corn 365 days a year). But I suppose it's time. I missed my Thanksgiving blogging opportunity, but if you think I'm going to blog about Christmas on November 30th, you've got another think coming.
I need to ease into Christmas before I start blogging about it. It's not that I'm a total Scrooge; come mid-December I'll be belting out Christmas carols with the best of 'em. But I can't go from Thanksgiving left-overs to trimming the tree within a span of a weekend. I can't tell you how many Christmas trees I've seen on top of cars these past few days. I have had to fight the urge to run those cars off the road. Ok, not really. (I'm not that bad.)
In fact, today I hung a wreath on the front door and the stockings by the chimney. I know, right? But I didn't do it because I was feeling particularly jolly; it was guilt that drove me to haul out the holly...
Last night I had a helluva blow out with my daughter. (I was right, of course, and quite justified, but still...I shouldn't have become completely unglued.). Our little "misunderstanding" led to a shouting match between my husband and I when he tried to come to my daughter's defense. (Um, hello? He's supposed to be on my side.) (Especially when I'm right!) I'll spare you the gory details, but rest assured, it was not pretty. So, this morning I was mad and sad and embarrassed and disgusted and decided that our house could use a little Christmas spirit.
And while I was going through the boxes in the attic, I thought, "Hey, maybe this is what Tiger Woods is doing." Maybe instead of talking to the police about his "car accident", he's decorating his house in an attempt to change his karma. Hmm. But if that's the case, Tiger really needs to put down those colored lights and talk to the police. And to his fans. It's time. Listen, I of all people know what it's like to lose your cool in the privacy of your own home. If my walls could talk, well, I'm just thankful that my walls can't talk. But then again, I'm not a celebrity so nobody is interested in what my walls have to say.
But people are interested in what Tiger has to say. Privacy, schmivacy. You can't have it both ways. You can't accept those million dollar endorsements and the endless royal treatment and then cry PRIVACY when you don't care to explain yourself. And really, how bad can the explanation be? Sure, it might be embarrassing, but it's not as if the rumors running rampant are any less embarrassing, right? We all have our ugly moments. Tiger just needs to come clean, so he can move on. It's time.
And then he needs to hang a wreath on the front door and the stockings by the chimney....I guarantee he'll feel much better.