The sun was out on Saturday, so Tiger and I decided to hang up our Christmas lights. After pulling all the lights out of the basement I discovered that almost every string was bad. So, it was off to Fred Meyer to buy new lights. We borrowed the tall ladder from the neighbor and Tiger climbed up on the roof...
What's that? Tiger on the roof? Shouldn't that be your job, Dipstick? Isn't the butch supposed to be the one climbing up on things and wielding the staple gun?
How sexist of you to think such a thing! Besides, the one year Tiger let me up on the roof to hang the lights, well, let's just say, they didn't turn out exactly straight. Or even. White strings didn't end at exactly the end of the rafters. Blue strings didn't quite make it all the way around the window. Extension cords dangled in the wind.
Quite frankly it looked shabby. And the neighbors still remind us of the year Dipstick hung the Christmas lights. Or as they like to say, "It looked like a drunken, color-blind five-year-old climbed up there, and then got lost."
So, now, every December, I lovingly hold the bottom of the ladder while Tiger climbs on the roof and painstakingly lines our home with white and blue lights.
Because, as you can see, I can't even take a straight photo.
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