Christmas Comes Early to Chateau de Ghetto
Timing has never been my husband’s strong point. Last night he displayed this trait with a little more flair than usual. Upon arriving home, Mr. Heather was in a particularly festive mood:
Open the pocket on my duffle bag
he chirped. After A LOT of prodding, I broke down and opened his bag. What did I find, you ask?
A new camera.
I do not think I need to make light of a recent experience I had involving photography. It has been been splashed all over the Internet. And while some of you out there may agree or disagree with my take on it, I think most of you would understand why things photographic are a very sore subject for me at the moment. My husband was really hurt when I didn’t want to tool around with it. He didn’t understand (for wont of a better way of saying it) that handing me a brand-spanking new camera last night was sort of like giving a book of matches to someone who just been sentenced to twenty years for arson.
The last 24 hours have been spent by yours truly in one or the other of the following moods:
- abject despair
After repeated prodding by my husband this evening we went out to dinner*. I was told to take my new camera with me and try it out. I put it in my purse to humor him. In hindsight I am glad I did because there is a one house Santacon on Huron Street.
I think I counted seven Santas on the premises. I found this interesting as there was only one Mrs. Claus. Kinky.
Here’s a close-up of the big one.
The expression on Joseph’s face is priceless. Maybe he just learned who baby J’s real father is?
Those of you who are have the opportunity and the winter doldrums should head over to Huron Street (between Manhattan Avenue and Franklin Street) and check out this stellar display for yourself. If it gave me a much-needed smile today, you can rest assured it will do the same thing for you.
*in the 90th precinct.