There are thirty-five days until I get to put up the Christmas lights. So, only thirty four more days of bugging the other half about putting up the Christmas lights. I love this time of year.
We were standing in the back isle of our local Gay Target, I was pondering about the taste level of animatronic, glowing willow moose. At what point do light up holiday wildlife become tacky? I asked out loud. It was a rhetorical question but was also answered by Fuzzy. At any point. You smack down plug-in anything in a front yard, and you’ve just crossed a threshold, the one that says, a trip to Branson, Missouri might be fun. A fanny pack would keep you organized. Then you’re a short hop to being upset because you have to dress up to go to Wal-Mart.
Now I’m thinking “understated elegance” is the way to go.