Yikes! Xmas again
Xmas mouse
What does Christmas mean to me? Since I married Linda, Christmas actually starts the day after Thanksgiving. You see, buried in the deepest, darkest recesses of our least used closet are nearly 3 metric tons of big cardboard boxes. These contain the dreaded Christmas decoratory equipment. Promptly at sunrise the day after Thanksgiving when most folks are asleep, my girls (yes, the disease has apparently passed to her offspring) haul out all 3 metric tons of red and green.
Immediately upon awakening, I make a desperate attempt to find some small spot that won't receive their fiendish decorating efforts, but alas, no corner is safe, no room untouched. No meals are served, no breaks taken, no mercy asked or quarter given, until the house is awash in every possible tint and hue of Christmas color. I slink from hiding place to hiding place in my futile effort to find a corner that doesn't scream Ho Ho Ho! at me.
There really is no escape. I've tried hiding the boxes a week before Thanksgiving, which cost me 3 days in the hospital recovering from a back injury (how do they lift those boxes?). I've tried brainwashing Lindsay for a whole year beforehand to not believe that Christmas is an official holiday. Come the day after Thanksgiving, all I get is a blank stare, then a big grin and, "OH NO," she says, "HO HO HO, GOTTA GO, GOTTA GO," and she's in that closet, toting boxes. I tried padlocking the closet door one year. Silly me, those hinges really are flimsy, aren't they? Now I just surrender and just stay far enough away that I'm not injured (have you ever seen army ants?) during the process.
Seriously, since being born again, I celebrate Jesus' birth every day because He is my life! Well, it's almost that time and I gotta go.
P.S. from Linda and Lindsay - We think Jon has exaggerated quite a bit here, but there's no time to explain - HO HO HO, GOTTA GO, GOTTA GO!......
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