Husband doesn't understand Fiorella's incessant Christmas decorating and is even rather peeved about it. She's always teetering on top of a ladder or messing up the floor with paper snippets or taping strange stuff onto the wall.
But everyday Fio's world gets worse, and moments of respite are far between. Her house and yard are not as she would like, her family situation is not as she would like, her country is not as she would like, and Fiorella herself is not as she would like.
She must do something about it. Therefore she decorates. It's a form of plastic surgery.