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November 26, 2005

The Woes of the Season

Tom McLaughlin

Humor by Tom McLaughlin

Now its time to figure out what they want. It's a game being played around the country as gift givers try to remember sizes, music, colors and other very important information lost from memory in last year's frenzy.

Birthdays can be taken care of with a nice dinner out, coupled with a show or movie. Ditto for anniversaries. But Christmas means under the tree stuff. Teenagers are satisfied with checks so they can get whatever they pine for and stuff for the car. But the wife or husband!

One of the things the spouse can do, like the stealth of a lion stalking an antelope, is to sneak up and scare the devil out of you as the hunt for sizes and styles in her closet.

"What are you doing?" she bellows.

"I thought I would take up cross dressing," you reply as the size you finally found has fled the mind completely.

"You would look better in some of the things you gave me in the past," she retorts.

So what's wrong with bargain basement, non-returnable clothes, any way, you wonder because that's where you buy all your stuff?

On the way down 270, stuck in the usual back up, you bark into the car phone to your secretary, who sensibly lives only 10 minutes from the office and drives a Prius that gets 60 miles to the gallon. You continue with the SUV gas hog that slurps $147 at a fill up because you can't un-load the thing.

"Please get the Randall account and see how much the Republican Party has given to keep them floating."

"Yes, sir!"

"Next, have the folder on the new Mayor of Frederick and find some dirt on him, He can't be that clean! And if he is, wave some development money his way. Divert it from the Randall or Ryan Homes account."

"Yes sir!"

"And buy my wife a Christmas present."

"Yes sir!"

All the accounts are neatly piled on his desk when you arrive. You salute the picture of George Bush and genuflect at the Ronald Reagan altar. The present lies on the coffee table signed by Rush Limbaugh.

"What did you get her?"

"Look and see."

A gorgeous black cocktail dress - perfect for those lobbyist affairs showing just enough cleavage - emerges from the bag. A red sash with gold lettering decorates the front.

"Hillary Clinton in 2008" banners across the front of the dress. The administrative assistant has left a note saying she has decided to go to work for the Mfume for Senate campaign taking all the secret account information with her.

A couple of nitro tablets calms the heart.

After that sting, you decide to surprise her with some really sexy clothes from Ollie's Secret, a discount lingerie store where nobody knows your name and everybody keeps it that way. The entry password is obtained from a friend of a friend and is similar to entering the speak easy's of the prohibition era. A knock on the door, followed by a slit opening, a pair of eyes and the password. "Cucumber" is uttered.

Then the door opened wide. And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar; and he wore a smile you could see a mile. He said: "Please close that door. It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm - since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm.

This hallucination to be continued.I think.Maybe!

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