The Holey Sweats

It's done.  The house is decorated.  The tree is up and lit.  The yard figurines are sitting pretty.  The yard lights are stationed.  The timers are set and working.  The interior has Santas and nativity scenes and holly and wreaths and lighted villages and fake snow and snowmen and greenery galore.

It's Christmas time at the Caspell household.

And yet, I am slightly sad today.

For you see, I spend the lion's share of the afternoon, just before my Cowboys beat the Colts, putting up the house lights yesterday.  I got my grungy clothes on, got the folding ladder out, untangled strand after strand of red and white lights, went bulb by bulb replacing burned out ones, and climbed up on the roof.  Denise was such a good help, feeding me the lights as I meticulously worked my way around the edge of the roof, then up the eave above the garage, then around the sides of the house.  They are up, they are working, and the house is done.

Then, today, I get the sad, horrible, depressing news.

My wife points out my holey sweats.  Yep, my favorite pair of gray, grungy, hang-around-the-house, junky sweats now have two large holes in the seat.  Looks like scooting around on the tiled roof finished them off.

And I am sad.  My fellow men out there, you know what I am talking about.

These sweats have seen me through many years of grungy wear.  Need to run to the store late for a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread?  Want to be comfortable going to the doctor while feeling like crap?  Need something to throw on while you take the garbage out and clean up the dog poop?  How about something to wear when crawling around in the attic to keep the itchy insulation off the legs?  Or running to the pharmacy for medicine for your sick spouse, children?  Yep, for many years, these sweats have been by my side, fulfilling these needs.

And now they are holey.  Trash can fodder.  Land fill fillers.  Dumpster liners.  Enroute to the big sweats paradise in the sky.

I know Denise is thrilled, though.  Should have seen the smile on her face when she told me they were now holey and finally unworthy of wear.  She's been bugging me for years to ditch them, she never liked them, she just did not understand the man's sweats.  Wish fulfilled.  The sweats are gone, sacrificed for the sake of a well-decorated house.

Perhaps Santa will take pity on a fellow man who finds himself without his beloved grungy sweats.

sigh..........

My only solace is the fact that they were identified as holey just before the visiting in-laws saw me....cause that would have produced a much different blog this week.