OH #$%^! TREE

I love the Christmas holiday season with all its festive trimmings and lights. The joy of Christmas time is truly infectious.

The only thing that would please me more is seeing a hunky Santa in a thong. Yeah, I’ve got some hot buttered rum for you, baby.

I used to wait until the first week of December to decorate for Christmas — but not anymore. I start right after Halloween, after I’ve eaten all the candy I bought for those pesky tricker-treaters. I skip decorating for Thanksgiving completely. It’s not a real holiday anyway. Just ask Native Americans.

Why should I waste my time with rotting pumpkins and tired-looking Pilgrim figurines when I can have Santa and Mrs. Claus getting’ down on my mantle? Why should I muck around with making a pecan pie no one will eat when I can have fun making anatomically-correct Gingerbread men?

I don’t decorate with garlands of popcorn or cute paper chains. I go for stuff you notice — like an animated Santa that passes wind as he does his “ho, ho, ho-ing”. I’m especially proud of the outdoor nativity scene I made out of butter. Yup, it’s not just for cooking anymore.

I did get in trouble with the Homeowner’s Association (HOA) though. I was caught sprinkling “reindeer patties” on my neighbor’s lawn. Hey, I was only getting even for his dog doing its business on my lawn, sans pooper-scooper. In the spirit of Christmas, I just thought it was fair for my neighbor to “receive” as he had no trouble “giving.”

I like having outdoor lights, but only if someone else hangs them for me. I found out we have HOA rules for that. There’s a maximum number of lights allowed. You can’t mix clear lights with colored ones. And they have to be the low-energy, LED kind. The November newsletter warned, and I quote, “All townhome Christmas displays must be harmonious, in keeping with the general theme of the neighborhood.”

Even though this year I had no one helping me with lights, I felt the need to respond to this attack on individuality. At a garage sale I bought some old-fashioned, outdoor lights. You know the kind, with bulbs about the size and shape of enema bulbs?

I didn’t count the lights when I draped them around a buttery Mary and Joseph. I pooled a string of white and green ones on the ground, under the muzzle of a greasy manger cow. This was supposed to look like grass, but resembled vomit — consistent with the “general theme of the neighborhood.” Satisfied, I sat back and waited for the Harmony police to track me down.

There was a knock at my door. The HOA Chairman and the Landscape Director came to see me. I could hardly keep the sick smile off my face. I waited for them to verbally flog me for my HOA violations.

“Miss Denise, Herbert and I are trying to figure out what that mess is out there on your lawn. We think it might be a sewer backup.” I gazed over his shoulder, puzzled.

I saw no Christmas illumination. But, by the light of an overhanging street light, was a string of shorted-out lights floating in a pool of melted butter.

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