You’ve got to be kidding me.   Seriously.   Kidding me.   I am adrift in a maze of outdoor holiday lighting that makes me dizzy when I walk outside.   I have to blame one of the Little Women of Worsham Street for this nightmare.   That’s right.   I hate to point paws at anyone, but she’s the root of Slow’s maniacal obsession with making our new Texas house look like a carnival.   The Little Woman’s house across the street resembles a decorator’s ad for outdoor lighting  in Southern Living, and that has inspired Slow to visions of grandeur.    Alas,  I half expect the old girl will be trying to figure out how to get a Ferris Wheel hauled in here before long.   She can’t seem to stop herself.   Somebody stop her!!!   Help, please help me!!!   Oh my God,  we live in Disneyland!!!

I had a hint that things were suspicious yesterday when Ollie and I rode in the truck with Slow who was making her usual drive to Willis to the bank.   Perfectly ordinary.   She loves to go to the bank, and we enjoy the ride across Lake Conroe on a pretty day when the water shimmies in the sunlight.   Very nice.   But, then, the wheels fell off.   After we left the bank, we drove away from our Lake Highway and took a different route home.    Shudder.   Shudder.   Shudder.   We drove west on Hwy 105 to Montgomery, but we pulled into the WalMart parking lot on the way to our house.   The Walmart parking lot!   Horrors!   The old woman has lost her mind!   What is she doing???

Ollie and I waited in the truck and observed a mass of humanity streaming in and out of the store.   Streaming, streaming, streaming.   Finally, we saw Slow struggling along with a cart filled with plastic red poinsettias and green holly sprigs.   What in the world was she up to now?   She’s never been one to decorate anything except the graves in that cemetery in Richards.   That can’t be it.    She’d have to put these on ALL the graves up there to use this many plastic flowers!

Brother, that was just the beginning.   As soon as we got home and unloaded the red and green crap, an old Plymouth station wagon pulled up in the driveway.   Out came one tall man and one shorter guy and a woman who was married to the tall fellow.   They commenced to take this outrageously long ladder from the top of their car, leaned the ladder against our house and literally scrambled as they climbed up the ladder and started stretching cords with these large old-fashioned white bulbs all over the roof.   I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.   That old car was chock full of cords and bulbs and fasteners and I don’t know what all.   I had to stay inside, of course, while they buzzed around the yard and roof and ran thither and yon, but I heard them walking and crawling and I announced my presence with authority while Mr. You-Know-Who slinked off to the back bedroom to hide.   Yeah, if security was up to him, we’d be without.

Well, I thought that was the end of it when those strangers finished last night, but, oh, no.   Slow sent a picture to Pretty who said what about lights on the fence where the WalMart plastic flowers were displayed and why weren’t the little lights that Smiley Boy had fixed around the garage door lit up?   So, naturally the old woman had to have everything fixed up just right for Pretty.   I went out in the yard with her this morning to keep her company while she strung all these tiny colored lights on the fence.   She worked and worked and labored over those little strands of lights and then she didn’t have any extension cords left to plug them in.   Sigh.   The old girl was a wreck.  

One more trip to Jim’s Hardware, one of my favorite destinations if you’ll recall, and we got the lights going on the white picket fence and the garage door, too.   Slow seemed satisfied with her efforts and decided to take the afternoon off from all of her lighting endeavors since her cousin and her cousin’s husband were driving over to drink wine and play cards.   I was glad to see them get here, let me tell you.   I am exhausted with this newfound outdoor lighting passion.   It must be contagious because another one of the Little Women on Worsham Street was in her yard next door to ours today, too.   She was struggling with her decor and trying valiantly to avoid obscenities as she made her house festive.   Slow sent Pretty a picture of our neighbor’s house tonight, and Pretty pronounced it perfect!   What a relief.

Now, I’m not one to be critical or anything, and I don’t mind living in Disneyland for a month, I guess, but I’m just wondering if anyone’s noticed that there are no decorations INSIDE.   Nope, no decorations INSIDE.   I’m assuming that my traditional stocking must still be in South Carolina.   No problem.   Santa can spot this house from Columbia, I’m sure.