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Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Kiss Me You Fool (#9)


     I was watching a video on YouTube of some guy who constructed a device which dangled mistletoe above his head. The guy looked like he had just fallen off the cover of a gamer magazine. The crazy thing is, as he walked around, attractive women were coming up and given him kisses; many on the lips. I’m not sure, and I’m going to check again, but I swear one of them was my wife!
     Did you ever wonder who came up with the idea of hanging mistletoe over a doorway during the Christmas season? Do you think it was some unattractive, lonely guy, desperate for any kind of attention? Personally, I think it was invented by a desperate, seventy-four year old spinster with a mustache, and a big mole on her face with a six-inch hair growing out of it.

“Do you hear that Aunt Edna? I’m on to you this year. Don’t think you can keep handing me those eggnogs until my bladders full, hang mistletoe over the bathroom door, and wait there!”

     Have you ever been at a Christmas party and noticed that there’s always one pitiful looking guy who hangs out all night by the mistletoe, sipping wine spritzers. By midnight people are starting to say,
“For the love of God, could someone just go over and kiss the poor miserable loser.”   
     You may have also noticed a few other things about mistletoe. You’ll never see the entire Dallas Cowboys cheerleading squad under one as they apply, glossy, cherry flavored lipstick, or that cousin who’s a male model, extremely inebriated, and just broke up with his girlfriend.
     No, it’s usually a group of octogenarian widows adjusting their false teeth, or Uncle Bill, who’s fifty-five, never been married, works as a computer programmer, and still collects comic books.
     Another thing I’ve noticed is that the mistletoe is always hung over the only exit from a room, and you’re usually trapped like a rat. If you’re like me, you do one of two things. You either make a mad dash through the door, climb out the nearest window and drop to the ground at least three floors below, or you hold your head up high, stand tall and proud, and face your fate head on.
“Okay, Aunt Edna. Just one, and it has to be on the cheek. I’m sorry, but you’re mustache tickles.”

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