ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, March 18, 1996 TAG: 9603190050
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-5 EDITION: METRO
COLUMN: Monty S. Leitch
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
HE SAYS, ``Do you think we could take down the Christmas wreath now?''
She says, ``Why?''
``Well, maybe now that it's turning brown around the edges ... ''
``But it lasted an especially long time this year, didn't it?''
He mutters something that sounds a lot like, ``Longer than it should've.''
``What?'' she snaps. ``What? I took the lights down in January, didn't I? I let you put the tree on the brush pile weeks ago.''
He says, ``Forget I mentioned it.''
``Don't you forget,'' she says, ``that I carried all the empty boxes to the barn by myself this year. And that was in a foot of snow.''
``Leave the wreath up as long as you want to, dear,'' he says. ``A thing that small, it's probably not really a fire hazard, at all. No matter how it looks.''
``It looks,'' she says, ``fine.''
``Fine,'' he says. ``It looks fine.''
But you know how dogs will worry a bone. You know how mountains grow from molehills. And she can't leave it alone.
``If you don't like the way I decorate for Christmas, why don't you just say so?'' she sniffs.
``You decorate beautifully,'' he says. ``The decorations are fine. Every year. They're beautiful.''
``But not this year.''
``This year, too.''
(Poor man. He should quit while he's ahead. He should get a beer and take it to his workshop. He should putter around in the sawdust for awhile. Or go to a hockey game.)
``Except for the wreath,'' she says.
``I brought you the wreath,'' he tries. ``It was a beautiful wreath. Perfect where you put it. I loved it. I love you, too.'' (Do you hear that note of desperation creeping into his voice?)
``At least until I get a little brown around the edges, I suppose,'' she says.
``Forever,'' he answers lamely. ``I love you forever.'' (Now - finally! - he's considering that beer, wondering if there's a hockey game tonight. Anywhere within four hours' driving time.)
``But only if I do what you say. It always comes back to that, doesn't it?'' She's sounding a few notes of desperation herself. ``Do what you say, and everything's fine. Just fine! But let me think for myself one time ... just one time! And all of a sudden I'm creating fire hazards around the house! All of a sudden I'm inviting an infestation of termites! It's time for the county to visit us with condemnation papers!''
``I never said a thing about termites,'' he answers.
Which is, of course, the wrong answer. (At this point, any answer would be. Doesn't he know that? Haven't they been married, lo, these 20 years?)
``We won't get termites from any stupid wreath!'' she cries.
``It's not a stupid wreath,'' he says. (Is that exasperation that we hear?)
``Then why must I take it down?'' she whimpers. ``I like the way it looks.''
``Forget I said anything,'' he mutters. He's searching for his car keys. ``Do whatever you like.''
``But, honey,'' she sighs, ``you live here, too. Don't you care what I do with the house?''
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times columnist.
LENGTH: Medium: 70 linesby CNB