This post (minus some edits) first ran on December 25, 2009.
Day 1 • Day 2 • Day 3 • Day 4 • Day 5 • Day 6 • Day 7 • Day 8 • Day 9 • Day 10 • Day 11 • Day 12
Okay, so I kind of get the pear tree.
Ever since we chopped down the crabapple tree back in July, the back yard has felt a little empty. The pear tree fills that void, and I’m certain its bounty next year will be much tastier than those horrid crabapples ever were.
What I don’t understand — and maybe this just shows my utter ignorance of Christmas customs — is why, sitting halfway up the tree, is that guy from the Partridge Family.
Admittedly, as a Jewish Atheist celebrating only his third Christmas, I’m relatively new to the holiday. But please, tell me: What does David Cassidy have to do with Christmas? Is it traditional to give your loved one 70s-era TV stars?
He’s been up there all morning, and has yet to move from that one limb. At first, Sonya barked at him, perhaps thinking he was some sort of giant mutant squirrel.1 She settled down after about ten minutes, but hasn't left her post beneath the tree, nor let her gaze stray from the middle-aged man oddly perched in her yard. David/Keith hasn’t said a word, nor did he seem interested in the plate of bacon and eggs we offered him. He just sits there, shivering, locked in a staring contest with the dog.2
My fiancée Denise3 made some remark this morning about Christmas being 12 days long. That's not true, is it? She’s just hazing the new guy, right? I sure hope there aren't another 11 like this one; I know for a fact that nowhere on my wishlist did I write, “a plum tree containing Greg Brady.”
I'll be keeping my fingers crossed.
1 I checked IMDb. As best I can tell he's never played a mutant rodent of any kind before. The guy's got range.
2 Update: Cassidy won the staring contest when Sonya stopped to eat his bacon.
3 See? You can tell I wrote this two years ago because back then I still called Denise my fiancée, rather than my ex-fiancée. (And she'd prefer I stop calling her that. It's the standard marriage stereotype: She nags at me to change my ways, and I don't listen.)