Christmas time is similar to a wedding, we make our plans and try to be as crafty and inventive as possible and press on. There lies the rub. We try something new.

Face it most of us are not Rachel Ray or Martha Stewart so handing us a hot glue gun without a background check is a dangerous thing to do. You know like the time your spouse glued a wreath to her head while bending over with a hot glue gun? Anyway...
I write this now with wet buring eyes. More about that later.

My saga began with my wife getting an award plaque from work. It was one of those 'We don't want to really condone what you did or reward you for what you did since the truth virtually embarrased some politically appointed honchos, nor can we we punish you so we are giving you this f***ing plaque, kind of awards.'
Some of the actual wording was "for exceptional competence in answering challenging questions about the complex array of federal..." So anyway my wife says "Honey can you do anything with this f***ing plaque?"
Being of such high brow clever wit I figured I could turn it into bathroom humor. Since the padded seat already had a burn on it I thought I could mount the plaque on the under side of the lid and spray the seat gold.

It was gorgeous and ellicited the appropriate amount of laughter from my wife. Later that night I had to go and tested the seat with my hand which felt perfectly dry and not the slightest tacky. Needless to say and excluding any metion of naughty bits, I was stuck. With self reliant pioneer courage I began to pull away with Spartan fortitude. It was like the worst and biggest band aid removal in my life.

I washed my face to disguise my trauma as I glanced down at the seat with the new imprint of a kind of fingerprint that might inspire some desperate homeland security private contractor who needs a new biometric identifier project idea. To neaten up further I brushed my hair and closed my eyes and held my breath as I applied the hairspray.
Ah-oh, even with my eyes closed and holding my breath the smell of gold paint seeped into my nose. Being blonde it was not immediately so noticable but when I turned my head in front of the mirrors front to back, my head gleamed gold. If I were about to play King Midas in the Christmas play I was perfect, although I'm sure my gold butt would not come into play.

Ok maybe it was the fumes but my holiday cheer was undeterred. I was thinking that the McCormack flavoring bottles might make the house smell more festive than gold spray paint, which seemed to follow me everywhere. You know a sort of aroma therapy. I chose the Peppermint for the tree which already had candy canes on it. Drip drip drip...sniff sniff, hmmm nothing. OK a little more down here dribble dribble... oops the bottle is empty. My eyes began to burn as the mint mist hit me full force. Many hours later my eyes still feel hot as the exhaust fan hums merrily away.

Most people experiment with tree colors: they have their blue silver tree one year and then maybe a burgandy tree the next. For me this Christmas will be forever known as the mint gold Christmas of 07.