If you’ve ever tried to buy Christmas tree lights the week of Christmas, you know it’s a fool’s errand. The store shelves are bare of white lights. The clerks think you have beanbags for a brain when you ask where they are. “A little late in the game, aren’t you?” they say before pointing out a strand of cough-syrupy red lights long enough to wrap the Empire State Building. Or a box of twinkling snowflakes that look more like sickly amoeba.
All I want for Christmas? For everyone to stop asking
What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
Time to take the new K-9 plunge
I guess it’s time. Who really knows when it’s time? Or why? There’s no magical pop-up turkey timer to tell you. There’s no kit you can buy at the pharmacy — like a pregnancy test! — that will give you a digital thumbs up. It’s just a gut feeling, I guess. Or when you think enough time has passed. Or you stop feeling guilty for even considering the thought. Like you’re some kind of traitorous, treasonous two-timer. Apologizing to thin air for even considering, much less petting, another dog.