Caroline, my inquisitive 6 year old, skips through the kitchen last night, staring at the oven.
“Whats for dinner, Mom?”
“Ribs.”
“Where are they?”
“In the oven for now, why?”
“Well…..” Caroline begins to reply as she turns on the oven light, “I can’t see them past the tinsel.”
I had to laugh, as its rather well known I don’t like tinsel. Much like Frank Costanza, I find it distracting. Mom, on the other hand, loves the stuff. The Christmas trees I had while growing up dripped in tinsel. My 2 brothers and I refuse to use the stuff. When I was 2 or 3, I’d stand behind the tree and pick it off, and pile it in the corner. Mom still reminds me of this to this day.
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