by A lump of Clay
For several years of late, the approach of December never failed to send chills down my spine. Now, I live close to the Equator, so it’s not exactly winter anywhere in town. But it’s a strange season of a different kind – sort of an insidious fifth column of the four seasons. A season where boughs of plastic holly sprout up all over the living room, replete with gaudy baubles, candy canes, miniature sleighs, glitzy styrofoam snowflakes , 3 inch santas, all highlighted with modern colourful LEDs. And magically overnight, right there in the most conspicuous corner, elves quietly erect a taller-than-me plastic fir tree, replete with tinsel and twinkling lights. And thus begins my annual struggle of trying to make folks understand my difficulty in rationalizing the new seasonal interior decor.
