The stars are free. Next week they will glitter as they hang by their nylon threads on the plastic christmas tree. Our cardboard stars, cut out to frame faces of family members, in all their glittering glory.
The Mister helped. What husband jumps into the insane-hormone charged universe of a deranged wife? And no, the p.m.s. crap is not over. But I feel better. He is so kind to me that way. He helped me put the frames together. He smiles and calls me a slave driver. He smiles. Who smiles in the face of the hormonally insane wife?
I cut stars, a solid star backing and a star frame to go with it. I cut pentagon shaped clear film for the frame. We seleceted photos. I glittered the frames. He strung the backings with nylon to hang. I stick the photos on to the backings. He sticks the clear film on to the frames. I put hot glue on the backing, he sticks the frames on. We’re a well oiled machine. We have 22 stars left but only because we don’t have photos of those family members. I need more photo paper.
Maybe the p.m.s. crap will be over soon. Maybe. But I’m not afraid anymore. It’s cause I got this Mister who knows how to play with me when I’m at my worst. I’m better off with him than alone in this sea of hormones.
