“It’s time to take the tree down, honey,” your wife tells you. You immediately know that she is plotting to kill the Christmas spirit again.
You turn away from the tinseled spectacle of your fine Douglas fir and tell her as much. “I know you’re trying to kill the Christmas spirit again, Barbara, and me and my motley crew of northern climate animals and discarded toys aren’t going to let you get away with it.”
Barbara is careful to disguise the anger of being found out as pain and concern. “Honey, I think it’s time we called Dr. Shultz about that medication. You’re obviously not feeling well.”
“You’re right Barbara, I’m sick. Sick and fed up with you not knowing the true meaning of Christmas, while I go on wacky adventures every year with my friends and learn it again and again. I mean, it’s Christmas Eve for Christ’s sake, Barbara! No pun intended!”
“Babe, it’s March.”
“Gingy the Gingerbread Man told me you’d say that!” you scream as you run out of the front door.
She's never been this brazen. Several weeks ago, she started telling you it was January, and time to take down the lights on the outside of the house. Then it was February to her, now March? Does she think you're stupid. You know it's Christmas Eve and she's not going to get away with her plan to ruin the most wonderful day of the year!
You're going to have to make some calls. It's time to save Christmas...again.