Voss Porter

I confess, sometimes I am a little lacking in the “holiday spirit.” I am not Scrooge, mind you. I have a tree and I have presents, and I have Pinterest-ed about eight Brunch recipes for Christmas Eve with my parents, but I am not quite there yet, in that magical in between place where we drink hot cocoa for every meal and listen to ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ on repeat like the little girl in Prancer (where has that movie gone, btw?). At least, I wasn’t in that magical in-between place until last night, when my wife got a tip from her mother that there were unlicensed Christmas lights abound in a neighborhood behind the manmade lake in our town – the lake our esteemed town’s creators had envisioned would create the next West Egg.

Needless to say, these unsanctioned Christmas lights – all of whose donated proceeds went to fund a travel baseball team – did not disappoint.

They even had a Christmas shark. You can’t possibly begin to understand how much I needed and/or loved that addition. The only thing better than Christmas and sharks are Christmas sharks – as in, COM-FREAKING-BINED.

Also, my dog is playing in a muddy puddle created by the copious amounts of rain we’ve gotten today, and the night is, like, 70. My sinuses are leaking out of my nose and my hair is three times the ordinary size that is ALREADY TOO BIG.