I grew up thinking mistletoe was moose poop. I think that’s because our father told us that it was. And for some reason it is very hard for me to shake that as fact. Every year I look it up to make sure that it’s a plant (just did it). I have no idea why he did that, other than he didn’t want us to eat it?
I know a lot of people hate the holidays. I love them. I love the festivities. I like the music. I like that the streets and bars are littered with people all dressed up, going to and coming from parties. I like the lights. The feeling in the air makes everything, even the shooting of a toilet paper commercial when Molly and I were at the Culver Hotel bar, where the British girl cast as the main role (seller?) repeated “For a fresher clean, try Cottonelle’s Fresh and Clean pack”and detailed the benefits of flushable cleansing cloths about 346 times, feel exciting and kind of glamorous.
Plus the crew bought our drinks, since we weren’t allowed to talk while they were shooting.
Since Paul is working Christmas eve & day, we will be sticking around this year. On our evening put-the-baby-to-sleep walk two nights ago we walked by the tree “farm” in the parking lot at the end of our street and decided to drop a hot $20 and get one. Which meant Paul got to carry it the quarter mile home.
Fortunately it’s only about 2 feet tall and Paul is buff. It may not be the Kentucky office, but my work station just got a little more festive.
Update: Turns out one year we had some Mooseltoe in our house from Maine. That actually was moose poop.