Christmas Blues

I LOVE Christmas. L.O.V.E. with a capital L. I am of an age to know better but I always have an advent calendar, and was THIS close to having a hissy fit when Tescos had sold out of my coveted Spongebob calendar last year. There’s none so good this year I tell you. I'm pre-ordering the Muppets Christmas Carol special edition. I have lots of sparkly lights and hanging things to festoon my usual one small room with. Now I have a whole house and garden to adorn - whoo! But I have hit one obstacle that is proving rather trying. Hubbie declares he HATES Christmas. Despite getting lots of lovely presents last year and dinner made for him by me, and as much booze as he could drink in 24 hours. I suspect this is because most pubs are closed, what is a man to do?! But he is showing signs of coming round to my way of thinking, but in a most bizarre way. After professing once again his hatred, he was captivated (like a small child/me and sparkly things) by a man size dancing reindeer in B & Q. Then yesterday, a giant Homer Simpson dressed as Father Christmas complete with blowing machine to keep him up. And he wants to buy one and have it in the corner of our front room. Much as I love him, and Christmas (not sure in which order!) I can’t let him do it. It’s not even real Santa, it’s a tacky Homer Simpson and thus is bright yellow and has a huge stomach (as does Father Xmas I grant you). So how can I accede to his weird Xmas taste without turning the house into one big grotto of tat?!