It's that time of year...
"Do you think we'll have a White Christmas?" (As if it's as rare as a diamond the size of my fist.)
"Gee, wouldn't it be nice to have a White Christmas?" (As if it's on par with say, winning the lottery.)
"Next up on our weather forecast, will we have a White Christmas?" (No sarcasm needed--weatherpersons get paid to be wrong at least half the time.)
I'll be the first to admit that after a big snowstorm the weekend before last, an ice storm this past weekend, and plenty of snow falling in between, I've already had it with winter ( and we're a whopping two days into this season). But this whole White Christmas watch every fucking Christmas (and it's been forty years since my family first moved to the Snow Belt) has reached the point that I'd like to bop anybody who uses the term with one of those rubber chickens that comedians used when Stegosaurus still roamed the earth.
You know what would make for a really great Christmas (especially for those of us who a) work in retail--good luck getting time off this time of year!, or b) can't afford to jet to warmer climes over the holiday--and we are legion!)? If some freak warm front were to traverse the Snow Belt and we awoke on Christmas Day to eighty degrees and a sky blue sky with the sun shining like a tanning lamp. Yessir, I'd be on my back porch wearing cutoffs and a t-shirt, barbecuing burgers and hot dogs while I'm playing catch with the Beautiful Boy, with the Beautiful Girl sitting in her camp chair wearing shorts and a tank top while drinking a raspberry lemonade.
Hey, we could still see the Christmas tree blinking through the back window....with The Pretenders version of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" blaring on the stereo.
That, my friends, would be a Very Special Christmas...and not the usual humdrumWhite Christmas claptrap.
Peace,
emaycee
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