The tree is up ( artificial, if you're wondering) .. Actually, both trees are: the elegant one in the living room, and my mother's tacky tree in the study. The only ever breach of her inimitable taste. You never even saw her swallowing hard as she gracefully accepted every ornament that any of her grandchildren ever bought her, regardless of style or colour. So each branch is laden with recollection and family history. Memory and desire.
So that's me done. Well, no, I haven't wrapped all my presents or written a card. So the smugometer is failing to register as much as a smirk.
That's what comes from peaking too soon. No, not peeking too soon. I am so over that.
Naughty? or Nice?
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