It's beginning to look a lot like I really need something fascinating to happen in my life. Something infinitely fascinating. In lieu of something infinitely fascinating to blog about, however, I'm going to write about one of the great loves of my life, Christmas, which is infinitely fascinating to me, but maybe not to you. But guess what? This is my blog. What's not to love about Christmas anyway?
I have a strong and grim foreboding feeling that a burlgar donned in gay apparel is going to break into my house this week and put up my Christmas tree. And probably also decks the halls with bells of holly. Sure, it's too early, but you try telling that to a burglar who is high on the festive spirit. Sometimes they just love Christmas too much. You would even say they glow.
And sometimes things are just out of our control so you can't stress about them, you just have to go with the flow and leave the front door open and decorations in an accessible place so they don't trash the joint. I hope Scrooge doesn't come here. He is a mean, bitter old man. Or a jerk, as Charles Dickens would presumably so eloquently put it.
It would also be good if they would BYO wreath for my door, because I don't have one.
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