It was a few days before Christmas. The trip
went reasonably well,
and he was ready to go back home. The airport
on the other end had
turned a tacky red and green, and loudspeakers
blared annoying elevator
renditions of cherished Christmas carols.
Being someone who took Christmas very seriously, and being
slightly
tired, he was not in a particularly good mood. (Almost a
scrooge) Going to
check in his luggage (which, for some reason, had
become one suitcase
with entirely new clothes), he saw hanging
mistletoe. Not real
mistletoe, but very cheap plastic with red paint on
some of the rounder parts
and green paint on some of the flatter and
pointer parts, that could be
taken for mistletoe only in a very
Picasso sort of way.
With a considerable degree of irritation and
nowhere else to vent it,
he said to the attendant, „Even if we were
married, I would not want to
kiss you under such a ghastly mo
ckery of mistletoe.“
„Sir, look more closely at where the
mistletoe is.“
„Ok, I see that it’s above the luggage scale which
is the place
you’d have to step forward for a kiss.“
„That’s not why it’s there.“
„Ok, I give up. Why is it there?“
„It’s there so you can kiss your luggage good-bye.“
