Surrounded by a band of ukuleles.

A week had to pass before I could recount this terrible experience in writing.

Last week, sometime after 8 PM, our doorbell rang. I was certain it was UPS, but Drew heard a commotion.

We were all upstairs.

I was in my pajamas because it was after lunch.

Drew went to investigate, and as he pulled back the shade on our glass-paned front door, he made eye contact with no less than 30 Christmas carolers.

Being Drew, he put the shade back in place and scurried upstairs.

Also being Drew, who gets adorably flustered when embarrassed, he pleaded with me to go downstairs and commune with the carolers.

—To which I replied a hard “no.”

In a matter of seconds, Drew increasingly became more flustered as he relived the uncomfortable eye contact he’d just experienced. The tune of the carolers below us continued, and Drew began demanding I go down there and be sociable.

I knew he would not take no for an answer, and I could tell he was getting ready to carry me down there to the porch.

At any rate, I lay flat on our wood floor to create as much dead weight as possible.

Drew relentlessly began dragging me toward the stairs. I knew if I kept giggling, I would lose strength and traction. My tactic was largely effective.

Drew remained visibly stressed by this entire experience.

In the spirit of the season or maybe extreme annoyance, I threw a hoodie over my pajamas and made my way downstairs where our three-year-old had evidently been peeking out the front door for who knows how long.

In the middle of a very heartfelt rendition of Here Comes Santa Claus, I swing open our front door to feel the 30 sets of eyes on me.

I mechanically grin and encourage an event I clearly was not enjoying. I clap and sing along as I think of the ways Drew will pay.

There I was on my front porch, in my pajamas, surrounded by a band of ukuleles, living my best life.

These vivacious ukulele players passionately strummed me into the Christmas spirit, saving my husband’s life at the same time.


Bless you specifically, little ukulele player, if you were on my front porch last Wednesday and happen to be reading this.

Merry Christmas.

And merry Christmas to you.

I hope laughter finds you this season.


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