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Christmas comes early in this dream

I had a great dream a few weeks ago that turned into a nightmare.

It was the Wes Craven version of Miracle on 34th Street.

In the dream, I was on a New York stage accepting the National Christmas Decoration Society’s coveted annual “Santa’s Favorite Stop” award.

In my slumber, I toiled for months applying the perfect yuletide expressions to my humble abode, leaving nothing to chance. Like Clark W. Griswold minus the bumbling bad luck, I diligently created a masterpiece.

Lights with timers set to a musical beat, man-sized candy canes, sugar plums, sleighs and live reindeer adorned my perfectly manicured lawn in celebration of the season of jolly.

Frosty the Snowman greeted passersby with carols of peace and joy. George Bailey handed out interest-free loans as Mr. Potter looked on in disgust.

Ralphie Parker and his Red Ryder BB gun stood guard over my creation as Charlie Brown, Lucy and Linus repeatedly echoed his most dreaded chant: “You’ll shoot your eye out, kid.”

As dreams go, this one was simply amazing.

That is until Scrooge showed up.

Being nominated for this award was a shock, even in my sleep. After all, I was a relative newcomer who spoke a different language than most of my fellow nominees.

Sitting in the crowd among all of the distinguished guests, my insides nearly exploded when the emcee announced me as the winner.

As I stood with tear-filled eyes and began to thank the many voters who put me on that stage, the Grinch, with crop circles on his head and cognac on his breath, appeared from nowhere and stole every present from underneath my tree.

“Billy, I’m happy for ya and Imma let you finish,” the intruder said after grabbing the microphone from my hands. “But George Long had one of the best decorated houses of all time.”

“All time!” he repeated for emphasis, pointing at George before handing the microphone back to me and being escorted from the ceremony.

Suddenly, I felt myself shrink. The trophy I was holding seemed to weigh 6,000 pounds…or about the same weight as my interrupter’s ego.

I said “thank you” one more time and abruptly left the spotlight, a dejected winner.

Later that evening, George won one of the other awards and, in a very classy move, invited me on stage to “have my moment.”

Thanks to him, I was able to finish my acceptance speech and thank those who had intended for this evening to be a memorable one for me.

Yeah, it was memorable all right.

When I woke up the next morning, I still believed everything that I dreamed had really happened. I sprung from my bed to run outside and see if the Christmas decorations were there.

But when I opened the front door, all I saw was a smattering of fallen leaves and what appeared to be a million cardboard boxes stacked in my front yard.

Each one was filled with tickets to Kanye West’s recently cancelled, and appropriately named, “Fame Kills” tour.

I smiled and walked back inside singing a beautiful Taylor Swift tune.

I guess it really was a great dream after all.

Billy Bruce is a freelance writer who lives in Pedro. He can be contacted at hollandkat3@aol.com.