A LIKELY STORY: WHEW! HOLIDAYS ARE MERCIFULLY BEHIND US

With a generous swipe across a furrowed brow and a breathy "Whew," we leave the holidays mercifully behind us.

Don't misunderstand, I'm as sentimental as the next sap when it comes to Yuletide, eggnog and Jimmy Stewart's charming little flick. I love the Christmas season and, since there are no holidays that require lounging around the house in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, I believe Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year.

But by Jan. 2, I am ready to put the Christmas spirit behind me for another eight months. (I say eight months because I seem to recall city workers putting up the Christmas decorations on Broadway during a sweltering August summer's day last year.)

Surely we all breathe a sigh of relief, if just a slight one, after the last present is opened, the last New Year's party guests are ushered out and the tree finally is either dragged to the side of the road or placed in a cardboard box and put away. A box that in my family tends to look like it might crumble at any minute and spill its lifeless green innards from its gaping, partially duct-taped wounds.

And like everything else my wife does, Lori wasted no time in removing every trace of merriment and good cheer from our humble domicile.

Our synthetic Christmas tree was quickly placed neatly back in the closets with the old coats, empty hangers and board games. In fact, we had barely gotten the final present pulled from under the fake tree when Lori jumped up and began frantically ripping the tree apart, limb from literal limb.

It looked like something from a Wes Craven movie. To one who didn't know better, it appeared as though my normally angelic wife was angry and had some personal vendetta against the tree, whose only wrongdoing was apparently overstaying its welcome.

She kept calling it by my name and telling the tree it was ruining her life and she never should have married it. A friend of mine suggested it was misplaced aggression but I couldn't imagine how.

She also made quick work of the Christmas money we got from our respective parents. By that I mean she took mine. For a rainy day, she said. I'd just waste it, she said.

I'm still not sure what happened to the money. But I think I've noticed several new pairs of pumps and purses around here. Those items would be more thoughtful if I used them. And I still can't figure out how they're going to be more useful when it rains.

Lori's request for health was denied by Santa. No sooner had we gotten Christmas behind us than Lori got sick a few days before New Year's. She had attracted those much ballyhooed "flu-like symptoms" and they kept her in bed several days. I'm no doctor but I can't understand how someone has the symptoms of the flu but not the flu. Are there heart attack-like symptoms that do not constitute a heart attack? Weight gain-like symptoms?

While Zach got a bike, a Kid Camera and a mountain of other eye-catching whoosits and whatsits, he was most impressed with the $2 pellets that turned into sea creatures. You always hear about kids who like the wrapping better than the actual gift but I never thought MY child would be like that.

OK, before I forget and before I go, there's something I have to add. While discussing my profession with Zach, and admittedly trying to impress him with what I do, he asked me if I had ever written about Batman. I admitted that I hadn't but planned to do so.

So here it is. Just for those of you who didn't know, Batman's real name is Bruce Wayne and he has a kid sidekick named Robin.

There now, am I cool Zach? Probably not. I have a feeling he'd be more impressed if I delivered the newspaper. Which if the boss ever makes good on his promise, I will.

Scott Moyers is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.