I walk my dog every day, well nearly every day, my husband does it at weekends and in the evenings. Anyway, in the mornings, I walk my kids to school and I take the dog with us. We live in a suburban master planned community. It’s lovely, it really is. Lakes, trails, clean sidewalks, big houses – lovely. Really.
It’s particularly lovely during the holiday season. Most houses have lights, and it looks like (to use the words of my mother), “a gingerbread village.” Again, lovely. Many people will also put various decorations in their yards; everything from those inflatable Santas and Frostys to lights in the shape of the American flag staked in the yard, and any festive idea you can think of in-between. One relatively common decoration is the plasticy-wicker deer. You know the ones, they’re life-size and sometimes they have lights and they proudly stand guard in their front yards, protecting their families inside from….overeager delivery people?
I don’t know.
Anyway, those deer have made me laugh every morning for the last two weeks – yes, since before Thanksgiving: we’re in the suburbs, the lights start to go up the day after Halloween, and the decorations increase incrementally (exponentially?) over the following days and weeks. If you’re not fully-lit by Thanksgiving, you’re late.
Back to the deer. So, do you ever crack yourself up? Like, you think something in your head and you snicker and shake your head and think, “man, I’m funny.” But, really, you’re just good at telling your own self dad jokes. I do it. I know you do it. C’mon, you know you do it.
It’s been a little windy here. Sometimes, the wind knocks over the deer. When the dog and I walk past those fallen creatures, I think to myself, “oh, dear.”
And I laugh, and I laugh.