A Christmas Story

The Christmas I was 6 (1979...yikes!) I received a dollhouse. I was very excited about this dollhouse, it was number one on my Christmas wish list. It was a house that required a parent and child build it. Easy peasy for my dad, seeing as how he was a tiler and had general knowledge of all things construction.

"We'll put it together tomorrow, Emma." says my dad. And so the box remained propped up against the wall behind the Christmas tree.

Tomorrow came but the house was not built. I'm not sure exactly why, but I can assume my dad was nursing one hell of a hangover and/or was drunk. Well, I shouldn't say 'assume'. I knew.

A few days later the box made it's way up to my room, not to be built, but to find a new home under my bed. And there it remained, seen only when I was looking for something or having my furniture moved around. When I was about 10 my mother decided that it should be thrown out and said something to the effect of "I don't know why we got you this, your dad never follows through on anything."

I tell you this story because for Christmas Saoirse is to receive a train table, which requires building. It was to be built tonight so that we could make sure there were no missing pieces. Needless to say it is still up against the wall in my bedroom closet. This is because William, who stopped in at the neighbours' at 6pm to drop off their son did not come back in until gone 10, and came home slightly worse for the wear.

I am none to pleased, as I had a thousand and one things to do tonight, none of which actually got done. And yes, I should be doing them instead of bitching about the fact that nothing is done.

And no, I could not build the train table myself because 1) I couldn't carry it down the stairs on my own, 2) I am NOT a feminist and totally believe that a man should do that sort of thing. Mind, I also believe a man should clean the house so I would not like to be considered anti-feminist and 3) while I could probably build the table myself (with a lot of swearing) I choose not to because I would then be expected to do all that sort of thing on my own such as put up shelves and whatnot. No, a man has to be good for something. Why else would I put up with one?