CHRISTMAS DECOR SHOWDOWN - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

      When I was a kid, we had men’s lights…lights that were tough; lights you could take out of the box and pound with a hammer, and they wouldn’t break.  Try blasting them with a shotgun, and they would just laugh.  They were about the size of car lights.  The limbs drooped a bit when you strung them on the tree, but they lit up the place.  There were no flashing lights; just high beam and low beam.   If your parents thought you were snooping around the tree, checking out your gifts, they would turn on the high beam.  For the next week, your gifts would look like white dots.   

     Those were Christmases to remember; with men’s lights that burned forever.

     These new Christmas lights are so tiny and fragile.  Why don’t they just stamp FRAGILE…DO NOT OPEN on the box?  I’ve found its much easier plugging in the lights while they’re still in the box.  People enjoy driving by and seeing my flashing boxes.   

     Today’s lights require constant care.  Before I realized Christmas lights were on a mission to destroy my life, I did everything possible to keep them happy and shining brightly.  I treated them with tender, loving affection…cradling them in my arms, caressing them…

      “Would you like a rocking chair?” my wife would ask.

     “No, I think they’re almost ready to be plugged in,” I would  answer, as I continued talking to them in a soft voice, even kissing them, which I don’t recommend immediately after you unplug them unless you want burnt lips.  After Christmas, I would gently and neatly lay them to rest in their box until next year.

     Next Christmas would come and I would carefully open my box of lights. What would I find?  Lights worse than tangled fishing line and, as a bonus…LIGHTS THAT DIDN’T WORK!  My first thought was, the light brigade; attack mice destroying my lights, seeking revenge for some relatives we refused to take in.  But, after talking to Christmas light scientists, I discovered that this is a universal problem.  It’s called the “Law of the Christmas Lights.”  Whatever shines brightly this year must short out before next Christmas.  It’s more certain than the Law of Gravity.  We can put a man on the moon, but can’t get the lights to work.  As soon as I discovered it was impossible to reason with lights; that they were utterly depraved and hopeless, I quit whispering sweet nothings into their sockets and gave my lips a chance to heal.

     Maybe some Christmas we can sit down at the bargaining table and sign a peace accord, but with a mind of their own I doubt if the lights would agree to it.

 

 

To be continued...check back soon