from the Theater Cop series by J.A. Hennrikus
It isn't that I don't love Christmas, because I do. I can deck the halls with the best of them. Or rather, I used to be able to deck the halls. Then yours truly had a brilliant plan to raise more cash for our summer theater, the Cliffside.
"Why don't we do A Christmas Carol, and make it a fundraiser?" I asked innocently at a planning meeting a few years back. Our artistic director, Dimitri Traietti, reacted negatively to the idea, but I talked him into it.
I. Talked. Him. Into. It.
In other words, it's all my fault. Well, this last Christmas Carol, not all of that was my fault. Who knew our new Scrooge was a nightmare? And that issue with Mrs. Cratchitt. You can't blame me for that. No, all that happened, and was written about in A Christmas Peril, that wasn't my fault.
But doing the show, and making it an annual event that pretty much made me a zombie through the holidays? The show that kept my halls from being decked, since my cat didn't pull his weight and put up the tree? That's my fault.
And that's why Christmas in July made me cry. I was just getting over last year's A Christmas Carol, and wasn't prepared.
Tell me, given all that happened last year, can you blame me?