mulligrubs
[muhl-i-gruhbz]
- ill temper; colic; grumpiness.
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Charles
slumped in his chair and huffed. His
scowl somehow reach every inch of his face, rather than just his mouth. He arms
were crossed in front of him and his eyes bored into the colorful decoration in
the room.
“What’s
wrong dear?” Maggie asked.
“Nothing.”
Charles huffed.
Maggie
came into the living room and looked at her husband. “Oh, don’t give me that. You’re not a teenager, you know. You don’t get to ‘nothing’ me.”
“Nothing’s
wrong, Maggie.” Charles insisted. His
voice betrayed him. Maggie stood there,
staring at him. Her gaze was one of the few
things that could get through to him when he was in such a mood. “It’s just…just…look at it all.”
He waved
his hands around the room. The place was
a mess, despite everyone’s best efforts to keep it clean the day of. Wrapping paper littered the room, having been
removed from the still stuff garbage bag it had been placed into, having then
been used as ammunition for a game.
Ornaments had been removed from the tree and scattered haphazardly. A few fake gingerbread men and candy canes
had teeth marks in them, and several glass balls had been broken. Tinsel and light strings wound around furniture
without any semblance of order or decorative sense. And the floor was covered with needles in a
manner more akin to a forest than a single tree in the living room. It was a wonder the star was still in place,
and the tree still standing.
“Yes, I
suppose the kids did get a little…rambunctious this year, didn’t they?”
Charles
huffed again. “Rambunctious? No, I can deal with that. This is just…just destructive.”
“Oh, now
don’t be so dramatic. Nothing was…”
Maggie looked at several smashed ornaments and corrected herself. “Nothing important was broken.”
Charles
sighed and looked at his wife. “Maggie,
it’s not just the room. It’s everything.” The only response he got was raised eyebrows,
so he kept talking. “It’s the whole damned
season is what it is. I’ve been doing
this too long, Maggie. I’m sick and
tired of it all. All the fake cheer, the
platitudes, the decorations, all of it.”
“So you
don’t want to host the holiday party next year?”
That
earned her a piercing glare. He turned
back to the mess that he would inevitably have to clean up. “No, I don’t want to deal with any of it next
year. Or ever, really. None of it.
Not just this one. All of them. They’re all the same these days anyway. The only thing that changes from one to the
next is what mascot they use to sell toys and candy.”
Maggie moved
to her husband, being careful not to step on anything. She placed her hands gently on his shoulders
and squeezed.
“Now,
now. You don’t really mean that.” She
said softly. “It’s just the stress of
the season getting to you. We’ll get this place cleaned up, and you’ll take a
few days to unwind. Then you’ll forget
all about this little funk you’re in, and be just fine for the next holiday.”
“How do
you know?”
“Because
you’ve said the same thing for the last five years, Charles. It’s always the same. You get hit by post-holiday crash, and then a
month later you forget all about it.
Trust me, when the holiday’s roll around again next year, you’ll be as
thrilled as the kids are.”
Charles
let out one final huff. He did not want
to believe her. He wanted to believe he
was done with holidays. But, his wife
was right, as always. He would get over
it, and everything would be fine. But
for now, he allowed himself to be just a bit grumpy. He felt like he earned that, at the very least.
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Did you have a good holiday? Or just a good day for those who don't celebrate it?
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