My mother decorated the house at Christmas beautifully. Stockings in front of the fire, hundreds of cards -- it was a time before gift cards so the gifts piled up. Manger scenes in every room and a wreath on every door. My father was a small-town doctor and one of the two local hospitals was Catholic -- the "nuns" (as my mother used to call the Catholic hospital admin) used to send a dozen poinsettias.
When I was a teenager, I thought about trying to live up to that. I chose not to. My parents were deeply flawed alcoholics but when I was young they seemed to have this whole perfection thing going on. You couldn't help but admire their bubble but you couldn't get in.
I guess it was the easy road for me to live up to their alcoholism but not their elegance. LOL -- sloth scores!
I'm not drinking today.