by Slim Randles
There is a secret selfish longing we all share this time of year. It is traditional to give gifts at Christmas, of course, but there’s always the chance that those who adore us for our sterling qualities won’t give us what we really want or unquestioningly deserve. Therefore … we are allowed to have Christmas present dreams.
Just take Doc. He knows he’ll be getting neckties from the grandkids and socks and underwear from Mrs. Doc. His daughters? Well, they’re the wild cards. They work hard each year to get Doc something different and special. But for Doc, when he sits quietly and dreams, there’s just that nine-foot Sage fly rod. Oh yes. With that, he’ll be able to feel the fish breathe down in Lewis Creek.
Anita Campbell knows Dud will give her clothes that look really good to him but are either the wrong size or the wrong color, or they are a style she wouldn’t wear to the grand opening of a septic tank. But she always wears them for one day, anyway, and it’s a day when Dud is home and she knows she doesn’t have to go anywhere.
Her secret Christmas dream has a lot to do with warm, sandy beaches, a tall, fruity adult beverage with an umbrella in it, and surfing lessons. She’s willing to compromise, of course, because of the expense. It doesn’t have to have an umbrella.
Steve, like many cowboys, has been gratifying his secret Christmas dreams in the well-worn pages of catalogs. His compadres in the bunkhouse will shower him with snoose, of course, as that is his drug of choice, but for himself, there’s that pair of Tony Lama boots. Oh yes, the ones with the filigree-looking tops. He knows he’ll just naturally ride Ol’ Snort better if he’s wearing them.
You know, every bride has this registry thingie she uses so Aunt Mims won’t get her a butter dish that doesn’t match the sugar bowl, so why doesn’t someone come up with a Christmas dream registry?