Today, at work, at the risk of being the only person who didn’t decorate my office door besides the boss, I decorated the damn door.

Now, Wendy and her mother observed me wrapping Christmas presents many moons ago, and asked, “What the hell are you doing?” The job I thought I was doing was just fine. My mom wrapped them in a sloppy way I guess, and I was just following her lead. We never cared. We were children-greedy to see what was inside.

But the Myers family does not do this. And since I wrap at their house, because there is a lot of room to spread out, they have taught me to wrap presents. Carefully. Neatly. Where ends meet up. I now know how to make bows. I can make those neat springy ribbons with scissors. Last year, I did so well, I was even complimented. That’s saying something. I think Santa trained them or something. They are grade A wrappers. IT MUST BE PERFECT.

But nothing in my wrapping training taught me how to wrap a door. And, as per usual, I went for asthetics, rather than practicality. So, did I get several loooooooong rolls of paper, since these are like 7 foot doors? NO! Of course not. I bought short rolls of shiny stuff, because I liked it. Then I went to the damn craft store, which I hate, because I feel like they KNOW that I am not a crafty person. They give me a LOOK when I ask where something is. I think I shall start referring to the craft stores as cult stores. They are a secret society, as far as I’m concerned.

I went to the craft store for two reasons. One, to get something for a friend who is part of this cult. Two, to see if they had spraypaint, which would save me from going across the street in the traffic. They DID have spraypaint. So now, the plan is to spraypaint some old Halloween black angel’s wings with gold and silver and some pearly stuff, and then glue gun them to the door.

And even though the wings will look cool, I did not enjoy this process. I kept thinking evil thoughts, like, “I bet warriors wouldn’t decorate a door. Xena wouldn’t decorate a door. Aeryn Sun wouldn’t decorate a door. Starbuck would not decorate a door. Amazons wouldn’t decorate a door. THEY would kick the door in. I WANT to kick this frelling, fraking, effing door in. THAT would be fun.  Not only would they kick the door in, they would light the paper on fire, use it to humiliate their enemies, and possibly use it as toilet paper. They would destroy everything in the office, except if it was good loot.

I kicked a door in once. I LOVED it. It opened on the first try and everything.

But this is not fiction. This is real life. And I had to show willing, and decorate a door. I am just not one of those women who has craft bred into me. I don’t know how to sew on a button. I mean, I could figure it out, I suppose, but it probably wouldn’t be the exactly correct way.

Other thoughts that went through my head: “Why doesn’t this effing paper stick? What the hell is wrong with this tape? What the hell is wrong with ME that I can’t make this tape do what I want? Why won’t the godsdamn ribbon stick? Shit! The paper is crumply-even through I stretched it out and it was even when I taped it. Oh NO! I used one roll and the other roll doesn’t match up. Why am I doing this at all? Everyone is going to laugh at my door. They will know I’m not crafty. I hate this door. “  

Why are we decorating doors? Well, in theory, because we want to make the office look cheery. But in reality, as with all things relating to women, it is about competition. The best office door wins a prize. Of stained glass, that one of the women who works here makes. So we can all admire it and go “ooooooooooo.”

Am I upset because my door is crap and will not win the prize? No. I just think it’s silliness that I bent to peer pressure. Office spaces are worse than drugs by far. They will get you to do things you never wanted to do, never dreamed of doing, and will do things that you look back on with 20/20 and think, “Why did I do that? I will never do THAT again at any other job. Life is too short.” But you have to work, so you’ll fall off the wagon, eventually. You’ll decorate some other damn thing, or participate in their yearly Fun Run or their Party Picnic where everyone is awkward and wants to get drunk, but not too drunk, because then you will be drunk in front of co-workers. Or the party at the bosses house, which is, by the worst kind of party, because you are totally obligated to go, and you are also obligated to not have any fun, but to make it look like you are.

Alas.

But hey, Kristi arrives today! AWESOMESAUCE!!!