I don’t understand why some people put them up.
I’m no lighting guru, we hang a wreath, some garland, and that’s about it.
But for the love of God, come on.
A single strand of haphazardly thrown up lights on your dead bush isn’t cheerful.
It’s depressing as hell.
It conjures up images of loneliness, stained housedresses and milky-eyed lap dogs.
I pass your home and want to walk in, put your cigarette out, lift you off your couch
where you have fallen asleep to the din of the television, and tuck you in.
Or drop off a hot turkey dinner on your doorstep, ring the bell and run away.
Then I get angry with you for decimating my holiday spirit
with your crappy, cry for help, lighting.
Here’s my idea for you:
Take that single strand of lights down and go back to the couch.
Where your fifteen year old poodle with the skin infection is waiting for you.
Then we can all pretend you don’t celebrate this holiday.
And we won’t speed by your home.
It really is for the best.
Consider it your gift to us.