The accidental Christmas

On Sunday, I dug out my Christmas boxes to find my wreath. Door decoration is a competitive sport among my neighbors, and I fall way short of the mark most of the year. This season I wanted to try and meet minimal standards.

But I didn't stop at the door.

No, after I hung the wreath, I decided a bowl of ornaments on the table would look festive. Then I set out the mitten cookie jar, which meant I had to bake cookies to put in it. Then the ceramic medieval Santa. Then the Nativity (and somewhere my old Sunday school teacher is wincing at the order). Then the...well, you get the idea.

Days later my place is festooned for the holidays, a brand-new tree lights up my window, and most of the ingredients for Bohemian tea--a traditional winter drink in my family--clutter the kitchen counter (I need to buy oranges). But I can no longer go into my office because the unchosen decorations wait in ambush from their tissue-paper nests, determined to join the fun.

So now I'm staring at a huge ornament that I hung over the mantle when I lived in Charlotte and wondering if it's gauche to decorate the bathroom. Is it?