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Some Call Me Scrooge
| Article
# : |
13858 |
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Section : |
LIFE
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| Issue
Date : |
12 / 1988 |
1,407 Words |
| Author
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K.N. Hardin
K.N. Hardin is an Arkansas free-lance writer whose humor first
appeared in national publications thirty years ago. |
During the yuletide season my wife and daughters call me "Scrooge." I am subjected to this verbal abuse because they go completely overbroad in their preparations for Christmas and I don't hesitate to point this out to them.
Last year, for instance, our older daughter went so far as to hire a professional interior decorator to deck her halls. He put green velvet bows, gold cherubs, and sunbursts all over the place, and when he got through I told our daughter that her home had all the warmth of a hotel lobby. Not only did she call me Scrooge, she informed me crisply that with an outspoken attitude like that, I'd certainly never win any popularity contests. (My wife claims Eloise and I are a lot alike, but I don't think of myself as being that caustic.)
Our younger daughter chose a pink color scheme for her Christmas décor. Everything had to be pink—presents, lights, wreaths—even her tree.
I warned her that pink Christmas trees were a crime against nature and should be avoided at all costs, but she dragged her tree onto the carport and sprayed the tree, a large portion of her house, and the fender of her station wagon a rather startling shade of pink. I reminded her that I had alerted her to the dangers of tampering with the natural order of things; she didn't speak to me for several days after that—not even to call me Scrooge.
Personally, I think a nice little tree with strings of popcorn and cranberries should be enough for anyone, but our tree always looks as if it belongs in Rockefeller Plaza. I told my wife she spent enough on the ornaments
... (1995 of 7883 Characters)
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