A Note To My Neighbors

Um.

Yeah. Joy to the world. God bless America. All that.

You have a plastic reindeer strapped, trussed in fact, to the front of your van. With strings of lights binding him. Around the neck and feet. Did you dress him in the field or will the taxidermist do that for you?

And the lawn? Where the reindeer leaps joyfully in front of Santa? RIGHT in front of Santa? Out FROM the front of Santa, if you get what I’m saying? By all means, if you’re working out some kind of childhood trauma crossed with Santa/Rudolph fan fiction in giant inflatable decoration form, don’t let me interfere, but there was a group of teenagers out there looking at it today, and I live on the second floor and I could hear them talking about it. I now know exactly what the kids are calling it these days.

I admit it. I’ve been a bit of a Scrooge this year. I don’t have the usual Christmas blowout in my windows. I’m pleased you’re stepping up to fill the gap. And fill the lawn. With dinosaurs wearing red fur jackets, being ridden by Fred Flinstone.

Just please, move the plastic choir boys away from the Santa-hat-wearing Winnie the Pooh, because I think they’re freaking him out. And considering that last year he fell over and crushed the Nativity scene like a horrifying kiddie-culture Godzilla smushing Baby Jesus with his honeypot, I really don’t think we should take our chances.

Love Always,

A.