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Friday, 18 December 2009 |
It was slightly before
Christmas. The trip went reasonably well, and he was ready to go back. The
airport on the other end had turned a tacky red and green, and loudspeakers
blared annoying elevator renditions of cherished Christmas carols.
Being
someone who took Christmas very seriously, and being slightly tired, he was not
in a particularly good mood.
Going to check in his luggage (which, for
some reason, had become one suitcase with entirely new clothes), he saw hanging
mistletoe. Not real mistletoe, but very cheap plastic with red paint on some of
the rounder parts and green paint on some of the flatter and pointier parts,
that could be taken for mistletoe only in a very Picasso sort of way.
With a considerable degree of irritation and nowhere else to vent it, he
said to the attendant,
"Even if I were not married, I would not want to
kiss you under such a ghastly mockery of mistletoe."
"Sir, look more
closely at where the mistletoe is."
(pause)
"Ok, I see that it's
above the luggage scale, which is the place you'd have to step forward for a
kiss."
"That's not why it's there."
(pause)
"Ok, I give
up. Why is it there?"
"It's there so you can kiss your luggage goodbye."
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