Santa Was Here!!!

M: Lugging around a ten-ton Christmas tree is not my idea of fun.

R: It is good exercise. Set it in that corner. That is perfect.

M: You said that about the last corner too, before we shifted. A house shouldn’t have these many corners.

R: Now all we have to do is fix the branches and get the decorations all up.

M: Well, that is work for a whole day.

R: We have nothing better to do.

M: I have.

R: Now you don’t. Okay, let us get cracking.

M: A metal and plastic Christmas tree! Where is the fun in that!

R: At least we don’t have to feel guilty about cutting all those evergreens. Anyway we don’t have a choice here, do we? We don’t get natural firs here.

M: Maybe it is ordained that people in the tropics should not decorate Christmas trees because there are no firs.

R: Who ordained it?

M: God?

R: Well, you don’t believe in God, so you can’t use that argument.

M: Okay okay. It is just pain in you-know-where.

R: I very well know where, thank you. Just a few more branches and we are done.

M: Hmmm. About time.

************************************************

(Two hours, some bad mouthing, and a couple of band-aids later……)

S: Shall I help, shall I, shall I?

R: Of course, you can, dear. Just bring those decorations one by one and hang them anywhere you want.

S: The star day-co-wa-tions?

R: All of them, one by one.

S: Do you know, Nadia has a bigger tree.

R: Hmm hmm.

S: Do you know, she has lots of presents under the tree too.

R: Okay.

S: Will we have snow?

R: It doesn’t snow here San.

S: It does snow with a snow spray.

R: Oh okay.

S: I want a snow spray.

R: That foamy stuff might be dangerous.

S: It is not it is not. I saw Praniti touch it.

R: Oh okay.

M: We will get you one, don’t worry.

S: Goody.

M: There are enough decorations here to cover a 20-foot tree!

R: Don’t exaggerate. These are all from previous years’. We didn’t spend a penny this year.

S: I want to keep the star on top.

R: You can’t reach that high, darling.

S: Acha, lift me.

M: Here you go.

R: Now we have a crooked star.

M: Matches a crooked tree.

R: Now the lights.

M: There is about of a kilometer of that here.

R: Just twist it around the tree.

M: And he said, let there be light, and there was light.

R: There wasn’t. There is a loose connection.

M: It can be fixed. All in good time.

************************************************

(Days later, on Christmas Eve…)

R: Now that San has gone to sleep, let us start wrapping presents.

M: There is no “us.” You wrap, I watch TV.

R: There are at least 20 presents to wrap. We have a party to prepare for. If you don’t switch off the TV right now, the remote goes out of the window.

M: What is all the fuss about? Do you think those Magi wrapped their presents?

R: I don’t think their presents could have been wrapped. Frankincense? Myrrh? They don’t sound very wrapping friendly, do they?

M: Nor are these cups, bags, horribly shaped pens, odd-shaped chocolate boxes – and what is this? A silly-looking mirror? A dust bin? You are crazy!

R: Those are the prizes for games. Less questions, more work. These are your set of wrapping papers, bows, scotch tape, and scissors.

M: &%$#@%&*

R: What?

M: I didn’t say anything.

R: Do we need to wrap San’s bike?

M: You must be mad!

R: I just asked. At least some tassels and ribbons?

M: No. It looks beautiful as is.

R: Okay okay.

M: I don’t think men are genetically inclined to wrap gifts.

R: Get to work, will you? Don’t blame your DNA.

************************************************

(About an hour and more bad-mouthing later….)

R: It looks beautiful, doesn’t it?

M: It does.

R: I am leaving the balcony door a crack open.

M: Why?

R: Perhaps Santa Claus will come.

M: Hmmm, I think I can hear the jingles.

R: And look, there, beyond that faintest star, do you see a red glow? That might be Rudolph’s red nose.

M: Let us get to bed.

R: Yes, let us.

************************************************

(Christmas morning, bright and early)

S: (A delighted squeal) Yippie! Santa was here!

When things really came to a -- wherever

Things really came to a head a couple of weeks ago. Well, I think I should appropriately rephrase it as “things really came to a rump,” because to be precise, the unmentionable hindquarter is where things finally came to.

It all started with M coming down with a high fever, which adamantly refused to respond to the good old acetaminophen, coupled with a certain hesitancy to sit down and bear weight on the said hindquarters. When his walk also began to resemble that of a tired and maybe slightly inebriated penguin and my overused ear thermometer refused to record anything below 102ºF, I overrode his habitual denials and took him to a doctor. The diagnosis was quick enough – an abscess on the – ahem – aforementioned rump. The surgeon was consulted, and although we had a little heated debate about the location of the abscess – perianal vs perirectal – which might have led to a misconception on his part that I am medically enlightened and which made M’s eyes roll in impatience, he was unequivocal about the treatment required – an incision and drainage of the said abscess as soon as possible.

The next day saw us at the hospital at the wake of dawn, where an I&D was performed in under an hour and M was wheeled out sleeping like a baby, still knocked out after general anesthesia. The surgeon, still under the probable misconception of my medical prowess, rattled out a series of instructions to me on how to care for the wound, which in retrospect I should have paid more attention to, while I was more interested in squeezing M’s hand in a fit of connubial love.

That night, back at home, our first hurdle loomed before us, quite literally. We looked at the mountainous pile of dressing materials in front of us – surgical alcohol, Betadine, cotton swabs, alcohol wipes, gauze, surgical tape, cotton buds, a huge box of gloves – and all we needed to do was change the dressing. I assured M that I could do it with my eyes shut and that he was in good pair of hands. About ten minutes into the process, I sincerely began to wish that I had more than a pair of them – hands, I mean. Because, as a layman, you are simply not trained in your daily life to hold the Betadine-soaked gauze on a curved space, tear the surgical tape off an excessively adhesive roll, and tape it in place without any of your fingers, hair, or items of your clothing getting stuck in between, all with just two hands. M offered to help which ended with his fingers getting in the way too. Finally, after half an hour of intense effort, a Betadine-stained sheet, half a roll of surgical tape, a very sticky – ahem – rump, and really choice expletives, we managed to change the dressing. The battle was won, but the war was to last at least for another two weeks.

The rough edges did smoothen out with each passing day. Although there were still instances of taped butt cheeks or a glove getting stuck to the end of the tape, thus giving rise to many butt jokes and extremely hilarious moments (for me at least; M stoically offered most of the jokes), things that came to a rump were slowly receding, so to say. The wound was healing, in spite of my administrations, and that was a huge deal. The war is not yet won though. We still have things to worry about – a curious four-year-old who will stop at nothing to find out what “dressing change” her mom and dad are doing behind closed doors, a bacteria which does not look to be effectively annihilated, a thermometer that still shows erratic numbers, and a woozy head – mine – that still feels faint looking at a wound.

But yesterday, the surgeon commended my nursing skills. M says he just has a crush on me. I gloat, either way.