I like to think that John and I aren't hot dog people.
Living in the Netherlands, where objects resembling hot dogs are sold in cans (!), has revealed the cold hard truth: we are, in fact, hot dog people.
To be clear: I don't mean the kind of people who understand and appreciate the differences between frankfurters, bratwurst, knackwurst, and kielbasa.
We're more the kind of hot dog people who want to have a reliable supply of Hebrew National All-beef Franks in the freezer and available for lunch emergencies. At all times.
I suspect that John has complained to his friends at work about the appalling dearth of quality hot dog options in the Netherlands.
You know, once or twice.
Even so, we were not even remotely prepared for the small package that we received from one of said friends and tucked under our 3-foot tree until Christmas morning.
(A 3-foot tree, incidentally, which may be the tackiest object ever made from green plastic, purchased at Walgreens for $8 on Black Friday, and brought to life with a $65 voltage transformer.)
It's difficult to overstate the excitement and happiness with which John unwrapped the gift and discovered its message of great joy:
An enormous, sparkly hot dog ornament.
