Let it snow. Just not on my shirt. I like Christmas. Actually, I love Christmas. I especially love Christmas music. I know most of the carols and even have the car tuned to the all-Christmas-all-the-time station. (Yes, breaks are necessary.) I don't consider it Christmas until I've heard the Eagles' version of "Please Come Home for Christmas." I've never had a copy of this song, I just wait and wait to hear it on the radio. The other night, I had a little epiphany and went to iTunes. It was there. Ninety-nine cents later, it was mine. And now of course I've heard it on the radio about three times. (The other song I love to hear at Christmas, and my college roommate never lets me live down that I have this CD, is "Old Lang Syne" by Dan Fogleburg/berg. I love, love, love that song.) Anyway. That was not the point of today's post. Today is dedicated to Christmas attire. As I've said, I love Christmas. I do not, however, love Christmas clothing. I just can't do it. Those sweaters with the bells and balls and snowmen and the glitter? Forget it. Ugh. The thing is, though, I have one fleecey holidayish shirt in my closet. It's red and has three snowmen on it and it says Let It Snow. I've worn it once in about 4 years. I don't know what really possessed me to buy it. I guess I was thrown off by the lights and the atmosphere in the store. Chrissy and I are planning to get together and bake today and the yoga pants will be worn. As I stood this morning staring into my closet, I spied that red (It's not really a shirt, not really a sweater and definitely not a sweatshirt. I guess we'll just call it fleece) fleece on the bottom of the top shelf (a sure sign that it hasn't been worn in a very long time). I pulled it out, looked at it. And put it on. I didn't have to look in the mirror. I just looked down at myself. That did the trick. I shook my head, wrinkled my brow, took it off, refolded it and put it back on the shelf, shut the closet door and turned off the light. Clearly madness had overtaken me for just a moment, but I've recovered. Accompanying the black yoga pants today will be a black short sleeved shirt and then a kind of heathery darkish blue cashmere sweater and black moccassins. Ahh. But... bells will be ringing while we bake. That's a take on the first line of "Please Come Home for Christmas," in case you didn't know. Here. Have a dose: Bells will be ringing the sad, sad news Oh what a Christmas to have the blues My baby's gone, I have no friends To wish me greetings once again Choirs will be singing "Silent Night" Christmas carols by candle light Please come home for Christmas Please come home for Christmas If not for Christmas, then by New Year's night. I could go on, but I guess I won't. If I had audio, I'd sing it to you. Wait. Nah, I wouldn't do that. Only if the real song were playing in the background.