“Hi. There are packages of 50 and 100. Should I buy two?”
“I’m confused. Two what?”
“Two packages of lights.”
“Wait. Two hundred lights?”
“Um. No,” and she considered telling him one-thousand, but knew that in relation to his assumption that two hundred would likely be more than enough that this would lead to a conversation for which neither one of them had the energy, “get eight hundred.”
“OK, six. Six hundred.”
And in the year of scaling back and not making a fuss, of only putting up the tree and hanging the stockings, it was fine. Though she knew, every evening at dusk, that two hundred more lights would have made all the difference.