Once upon a time I was a decorator.
It all started nearly a decade ago. I was working in a little shop in Philly and I got bored, so I started redressing the windows. I wish I had a picture of what I’d done because it’s to-date my favorite display I ever did (A floor to ceiling Christmas tree composed entirely of green monkeys, decorated with red monkeys and topped by a yellow monkey star). Fairly proud of my work, but thinking nothing of it, I went back about my day. What I didn’t know is that the woman who designed and decorated for the mall I worked in saw my display and snapped me up as her new assistant. For the next few years I worked under her, decorating malls and storefronts and large parties. The only reason I quit is because it’s piece-work. Sporadic according to season or event. Though the job made me totally happy, I had to leave it or starve to death trying to manage around it.
I made the mistake once of telling this story at work. Now the owner’s wife fancies me their personal decorator. I knew it was coming, so I wasn’t surprised at all when I walked in this afternoon and found she’d dragged dozens of wreaths, two Christmas trees and enough garland to wrap around the place twice. Ornaments, glue-gun, ribbons and mistletoe all awaited my arrival. Happy to have a reason to be anti-social (I was in a bad mood today) I set to work making the place pretty. I have to say, with every shiny orb I hung on the tree my mood lightened until I eventually forgot what was bothering me in the first place. It’s not done, but I’m pretty proud of what I did so far.
I have to admit, I’d forgotten how much I enjoy doing it and by the end of the night I’d heard “Why don’t you do this for a living?” so many times, I started wondering if maybe I could….
As soon as I get used to the feeling of hot-glue spilling on my fingers again… Owie!