Last evening, I was tired and resting on the couch when I smelled something objectionable. The first suspect is always the dog. One of Cody's favorite things to do is to find the most awful smell in the yard and roll in it. He doesn't just roll, he dives into it and wiggles around on his back as I would if I found my bed full of hundred dollar bills. (He doesn't squeal with glee, however.)
His second favorite thing to do is to place himself beneath your nose after he's rolled in whatever it is that emits such a smell.
Once Eddie confirmed that it wasn't the dog, I suspected any of the half empty cups and bowls on the nearby coffee table
and asked sweetly if Eddie would remove the offensive, stink-filled dishes. He did so without argument. I love
Still, the smell lingered. It wasn't food, it wasn't poo...Was it me? I'd been with myself the whole of the day and didn't smell it. Was it Eddie? No, he'd just kissed me on the head as he passed in front of my nose on his way to the kitchen carting the dishes. What
It couldn't be the Christmas Tree. It couldn't be the water that's been sitting in that tree stand for...way too long. It's only the first week of January. People leave their trees up for much longer than we have. It couldn't be the tree.
It was the tree.
Sour, foul and potent. We couldn't believe that something so beautiful could be the culprit. So we made a decision to remove Christmas from our living room the next day.
This afternoon after work. He's wrapping the Christmas ornaments for another year of storage while she takes them off of the tree.
"Yeah, I'm gonna need you to detach the x-wing from the lights. Here's
the first ornament I got for you. Aw."
"Remember this ornament? (precious one bought at a missions market) I'm so glad we bought it. Could you bring me the scissors?"
(I'm thinking... why would he need the scissors, because there's plenty of tissue paper provided for wrapping ornaments; what could he possibly need to cut? So I look over. He's holding up a giant piece of tissue paper. I walk over and tear it in half. Badly. It ripped in all the wrong places, but I tore it and made a couple of useful pieces out of it. He watched in understated amazement.)
"Oh. I didn't know if that would be acceptable
." Sheepishly, but with a bit of a smile
I look at him while my eyes got wider and we both burst out laughing.
"I know how you like things neat. I didn't ask for the scissors out of fear of what you might do if I tore the paper. I was just trying to do the little things that make a good husband."
How am I supposed to compete with that?