During the last winter my parents spent in the US (1961), they finally gave in to the pressure from the neighbors to troll up the outside of the house for the season.
The entire street, nay, the entire neighborhood, had for years done up their houses with lights, glowing santas, electronic fir-trees, fake snow (because real snow seldom falls in the Los Angeles area), nativity scenes of varying degrees of ghast, balls, candles, holly, and similar expressions of fervor and fanaticism.
Let us not talk about bad taste.
So, in honour of the season, my parents placed a giant egg on the crest of the roof. With three brontosaurii heading towards it from the east.
Which, along with the dessicated wreath from several years earlier, were left up till we left for Europe in summer.
I do not decorate for Christmas.
We have a 'holiday tree' in the lobby of the office. I decided, probably for the best, that my collection of voodoo dolls would probably be inappropriate ornaments - even though we were told that we could decorate it however we wanted.
See, I am diplomatic, despite what some people say.
I've been telling every fellow-wasp who wishes me a merry Christmas to have a happy kwanzaa. It throws them for a loop to hear that from someone so white that he glows in the dark. You can hear the mental gears whirring for several minutes after. Exercise is good for them, especially at this time of year.
Given that I work in a Christmas-thriving industry (so economically Christmas-oriented, but not ideologically xmas dependent), you will just have to forgive me a certain level of bah-humbugitty. I've been totally yuled under since September. I have nothing good to say about that overweight pervert in the red bekeshe.
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