The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I love Christmas.  Maybe that’s the problem … I love it too much. 

I have such fond memories of my childhood Christmases that every year I try to recapture that same magic.  And every year the little disappointments start immediately after the Thanksgiving dinner dishes are cleared way.

I love Christmas so much that I have two Christmas trees in my little apartment.  One in the living room, another, smaller tree, stands in my bedroom with white lights and a country theme.  Regardless of my parents’ fear that it will catch on fire and burn my apartment down, I will always go to sleep each holiday to the twinkling lights of my bedroom Christmas tree.

Last year at this time, while enjoying some holiday cheer with my co-workers, I spied a cutie at the other end of the bar.  He and I chatted for a while.  We shared the same childhood excitement about the upcoming holiday. I was sure we were destined for each other.  This guy had not two trees…not three or four trees…but seven Christmas trees in his house!  I was convinced that Santa had brought me an early Christmas present until my latest future husband-to-be began to tell me in great detail about how each of the seven trees was decorated — including the one that sat in his bedroom with a pink boa for garland and little shoe ornaments. He was certainly someone’s Mr. Right – just not mine.

I know my expectations are high.  I know that Christmas is just one day amongst three hundred and sixty four other days of the year.  But if I can’t hope for magic on this one special day, then when can I?


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