Christmas in the Minefield

It's strange how while you're in the midst of something, no matter how weird or bizarre, it can all seem "normal," but once you're out, you begin to realize how strange and dysfunctional it really was. And you ask yourself "How in the world did I ever go through that?" As Dickens might have had said, "Meet my Ghost of Christmas Past."

To Himself, setting the table for Christmas dinner was akin to preparing the set for The Perfect Christmas Fantasy Holiday Dinner Show in which he played the starring role. He insisted on taking it upon himself to ensure that the table was set properly, as I "didn't even know how in the hell to entertain."

Preparations for the Opening Scene in The Perfect Christmas Fantasy Holiday Dinner Show began around 0'dark: 30 on Christmas morning, when the sounds of raging and cursing, furniture being moved about and shoved against walls would begin to emanate from the living room.

Our house did not have a formal dining room or any sort of dining room, for that matter, and while most people may be unaware of the fact, it seems there is an unwritten rule that Holiday guests are never to be served in the kitchen, lest they catch a glimpse of a dish in the sink or crumb on the counter and go immediately into cardiac arrest. So, for the Christmas dinner, Himself would borrow one of those long folding conference-type tables and set it up in the center of the living room.

The set for Himself's Perfect Christmas Fantasy Holiday Dinner Show required a spotless white linen tablecloth, along with a complete, perfectly matched set of fine china and real polished silver. Ones just like Mother had, and which took endless hours of tedious of laundering, ironing and fussing over. One which I would have surely failed to keep up to his standards, and so preferred a more colorful and festive patterned cloth ala' Wally World, or sometimes made of material bought on sale at the fabric store. "Oh, hell! Bring out the damn thing and let's get it put on the table!" Himself would holler into my face. "Why the hell don't you even have a decent goddamn tablecloth?!"

Himself was also fully aware, or at least should have been, that we did not own a complete matching set of fine china. As a matter of fact, we owned absolutely no fine china, and never had. Corelle and Ironstone, yes, but fine china, no. Yet somehow, Himself always seemed to be shocked to make this astonishing discovery.
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If that

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