I’d rather have the fever

Oh my gosh, I’ve got the fever.

I’m seriously infected.

I’m typically the one who scoffs at people who start craving Christmas music and all things holiday while Thanksgiving dinner is still on the table.

But this year, for some reason, I’ve been in the Christmas mood for almost a month already!

What has happened to me?

I know how I caught the sickness. I know where I had the exposure. I will make an admission.

I have indulged on portions of more than a dozen Hallmark Christmas movies.

And now, I have the Christmas fever.

Yes, I have watched/listened to those delightfully cheesy televised stories that are all pretty much the same.

You know the theme: Someone is so busy with their hectic life they are missing the true meaning of Christmas.

So on the way to a very important business meeting, their car breaks down, they lose their cell phone and accidentally find themselves stranded in a garland-covered town with Christmas trees on every corner. All the people in those villages have nothing to do but bake gingerbread 24 hours a day and an evil corporation always wants to tear down their old library.

While the person is stranded, a family typically takes them into their home where there’s mistletoe hanging in every doorway, the only available drink is hot cocoa and there’s always an elderly man sitting in a rocking chair who resembles Santa.

Now, the kicker is that there is always a relative who is extremely good looking, single and harboring a desire to take over the family furniture-making business. But alas, there are financial constraints and some sort of long-held depression as a result of a childhood experience. The stranded, over-worked person talks the good looking relative into pursuing their dreams of turning old logs into chairs . . . and the two somehow find themselves in love while directing the all-town Christmas pageant.

But right before the big holiday lighting display and caroling extravaganza, the stranded person’s bosses find out where they are, send a private jet to bring them back to reality, and the stranded person must make a choice.

Do they stay in this little town where reindeer actually graze, the stars twinkle more brightly and their new-found love interest serves coffee at the local diner? Or do they return to their cold, financially-secure lives where everyone is mean and all the clothes are gray?

They always reluctantly take off their jeans and galoshes, change back into their business suits (or don their tiaras) and get on the jet or bus or train. But after the children cry because their beloved week-long Christmas drama coach has left right before the big play, the modelesque love interest decides to chase him or her.

Oh, the wonder of a beautiful person in a horse-drawn sleigh, with the wind blowing in their hair, flying through the wilderness to stop their several-day soul mate from leaving! The temperature is brutally below freezing . . . yet, they are never cold. There are never red faces or runny noses, their make-up is always perfect and they never shiver despite the fact that all they are wearing is a sweater that was knitted by the town’s mayor (who happens to be played by a movie star or country singer from the 1970s).

“Stop! Stop!” they yell to the otherwise stranded person once they are spotted. “Come back to the Christmas pageant with me, in my sleigh, where my wise aunt is waiting with the secret recipe to her egg nog and a circle of carolers have stopped the bulldozer from destroying the lighting display! I have fallen in love with you and even though we will be poor, we will have Christmas 365 days a year!”

There is a brief moment of reflection – typically a flashback scene where the otherwise stranded workaholic fondly remembers all the gift wrapping, snowball fights and marshmallow melting by the fire.

“I love you too!” they yell, before running toward the sleigh. “And I love Christmas!”

The two kiss briefly and then act surprised when applause breaks out from the villagers who have suddenly gathered around them.

Older couples embrace, little kids throw their red and green stocking caps in the air and the attending angel disappears into the light streaming from the Christmas tree in the town’s square.

And for whatever reason, I find myself high with infectious bliss bestowed on me by the producers of the Hallmark Christmas Movie Channel. Suddenly, I want to smell the scent of pine, buy presents and maybe even eat a peppermint candy cane.

I don’t know when I caught the fever, but it’s here. And that’s OK.

If there’s a cure for my sickness, my addiction to Hallmark Christmas movies and the resulting symptom of hearing carols in my head . . . well, I’ll decline.

I’d rather have the fever.

 

 

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