Christmas Lessons
"Hija, staring at it won't make the lights magically put themselves up."
The smart-mouthed remark from my mother was like burning salt to my wounded ego. In the glacial twilight December air, I had been scowling at the staple gun for at least ten minutes, cursing it into oblivion. How sad, I was 22 and still couldn't use the damn thing. You would think that, by now, its design would have been reimagined, so the trigger didn't feel like wrestling with Hercules.
