I blame it all on my grandmother. The pre-Christmas, must clean and tidy and fuss compulsion, I mean.
Men never notice if you haven't dusted the top of the book shelves in two months.
Men don't care if your oven sparkles or not, as long as it doesn't make the food smell funny, or send smoke into the room.
Men don't mind if you haven't made the bed in the Martha Stewart fashion.
Men are not bothered by a square candle perched in a round dish, because you can't find the right one.
But the darn Christmas tree, whether it's real or fake, large or small, had better be straight. Where did I put my hammer?