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It was slightly before Thanksgiving.  The trip went reasonably well, and he was
ready to go back.  The airport on the other end had turned a tacky red and
green, and loudspeakers blared annoying elevator renditions of cherished
Christmas carols.

Being someone who took Christmas very seriously, and being slightly tired, he
was not in a particularly good mood.

Going to check in his luggage (which, for some reason, had become one suitcase
with entirely new clothes), he saw hanging mistletoe.  Not real mistletoe, but
very cheap plastic with red paint on some of the rounder parts and green paint
on some of the flatter and pointier parts, that could be taken for mistletoe
only in a very Picasso sort of way.

With a considerable degree of irritation and nowhere else to vent it, he said
to the attendant,

"Even if I were not married, I would not want to kiss you under such a ghastly
mockery of mistletoe."

"Sir, look more closely at where the mistletoe is."

(pause) "Ok, I see that it's above the luggage scale, which is the place you'd
have to step forward for a kiss."

"That's not why it's there."

(pause) "Ok, I give up.  Why is it there?"

"It's there so you can kiss your luggage goodbye."

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