All I want for Christmas 2017

The Compass - - Editorial - Harold Wal­ters Harold Wal­ters lives Hap­pily Ever After in Dunville, in the only Cana­dian province with its own time zone. How cool is that? Reach him at gh­wal­

All I want for Christmas is ev­ery­thing on the first page of Home Hard­ware’s Christmas flyer.

I’m jok­ing.

In truth, Dear­est Duck caught me pag­ing through said flyer touch­ing var­i­ous mys­te­ri­ous tools — a vari­able speed re­verse corded ham­mer drill — what­ever that is — for ex­am­ple. As young­sters once drooled over the pages of Sears’ now-de­funct Christmas Wish Book, I sighed at ev­ery page.

“Harry, my honey,” said Dear­est Duck, “see any­thing you want for Christmas?”

“Just dream­ing of tools and toys, my Duck.”

“Maybe it’s time to grow up and get some­thing prac­ti­cal for Christmas,” said Dear­est Duck.

Prac­ti­cal? For Christmas? Per­ish the thought! “Prac­ti­cal, my Duck?” “Yes,” said Dear­est Duck. “You know the car needs new win­ter tires.”

Up at the North Pole, I’m sure Santa Claus and all the elves froze solid along­side the toy assem­bly line at Dear­est Duck’s hor­ri­fy­ing sug­ges­tion. Mrs. Claus prob’ly burned a batch of ginger­bread men to cin­ders. “Tires, my Duck?” “Harry, think about Christ­mases past. How of­ten has Santa Claus brought you the top thing on your list?”

“Sel­dom, my Duck,” said I. What I didn’t say is that I know why Santa sel­dom stogged my stock­ing with my top 10 wishes.

Santa didn’t do so be­cause he didn’t get my unedited let­ters.

He didn’t get my let­ters be­cause Dear­est Duck in­ter­cepted them and al­tered my lists. She must’ve.

Last Christmas, for in­stance, I asked Santa for an Ap­ple MacBook Pro. Although Best Buy tagged it over $3,000, cost ought not to have de­terred Santa. He’s magic, sure.

Dear­est Duck — think­ing my bot­tom-of-the-line HP desk­top with Win­dows Mil­len­nium pre-in­stalled was good enough for peck­ing scrib­bles, I s’pose — def­i­nitely re­vised my Santa Claus list.

Santa didn’t bring me a MacBook.

Oh, he brought me a book. One Dear­est Duck sug­gested, no doubt — a pa­per­back copy of “Mac the Mur­derer,” for frig sake.

“See?” said Dear­est Duck when my face told her I’d rec­og­nized the re­al­ity of Christ­mases gone by.

Wisely, I said noth­ing about my amended let­ters to Santa.

So, whether I want tools or toys this year, there’s no point in pen­ning a Santa Claus list.

Prob’ly just as well, I haven’t made up my mind yet.

Be­fore the Home Hard­ware flyer ar­rived, I’d con­sid­ered ask­ing Santa for one of those drone fly­ing ma­chines. Be­cause I’ve made dis­parag­ing re­marks about those gad­gets, I fig­ured Santa would think me hyp­o­crit­i­cal and check his list twice be­fore gift-wrap­ping one for me.

Any­way, I don’t know what use I’d make of a drone. I’m not a moose hunter, so I wouldn’t need to fly one above the tree tops in search of “me” moose. And I imag­ine us­ing a drone for hunt­ing is il­le­gal.

I could use a drone to check for dam­aged shin­gles after a wind storm, I s’pose. But that wouldn’t be as prac­ti­cal in Dear­est Duck’s eyes as me climb­ing a lad­der, eh b’ys?

Well then, no re­verse corded drill or hov­er­ing drone for me. And there’s no point in plac­ing a MacBook at the top of my list. Dear­est Duck would surely hi­jack the list and change it. I don’t want Book 2 in the “Mac the Mur­derer” se­ries, any­way. The first one wasn’t en­ter­tain­ing.

Not that any­one cares, but I’m of­ten dis­ap­pointed at Christmas. Not only with the con­tents of my Santa pack­age but also with Christmas din­ner fare.

Colour me as crooked as Scrooge, but I don’t like turkey.

“Harry, you never have com­plained,” says Dear­est Duck.

“Com­plain? Me, my Duck?”

(I’m not that stund, eh b’ys? I know who bakes the choco­lat­e­chip cook­ies.)

I can say this, now that Dear­est Duck has left me alone with my an­ti­quated Dell. Just once, I wish Dear­est Duck would roast a dif­fer­ent fowl to com­pli­ment the figgy duff for Christmas din­ner. If not turkey, what? Since I’m Scrooge-coloured any­way, like Scrooge at Bob Cratchit’s Christmas din­ner, I’d hoist a glass if roast goose were the table’s cen­ter­piece.

“Made up your mind?” says Dear­est Duck who — God love ‘er — has re­turned with cho­co­late chip cook­ies fresh from the oven.

Sen­si­bly, through a mouth­ful of cookie, I say, “All I want for Christmas, my Duck, is a plate of your fine cook­ing.”

And, OK Santa, win­ter tires. Thank you for read­ing. Sea­son’s gree… ah, frig it, Merry Christmas!

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