I¹m a bah, humbug Christmas person.

Christmas is the busy season for lawyers, just like for mailmen, airline employees, doctors, police officers, and mothers of small children, to say nothing of all the retail workers. Ask a Wal-mart cashier how she likes Christmas.

When somebody asks me on December 1st if I¹m ready for Christmas, I want to yell, Shut up!

Even though judges around here give one parent the kids on Christmas Eve and the other parent Christmas Day, with the next year reversed, ex-husbands and wives pick so many fights over Christmas, that if I were to sneak out for Christmas shopping, I¹d likely be reported to the Bar Association for neglect.

Am I ready for the phone ringing Christmas Day, when too much eggnog ignites a shoving match or an arrest for drunk driving? Just as ready as I am for an infomercial on the latest gadget that turns onion peelings into Santa¹s elves. Maybe I¹ll order one off TV for the night duty officer I meet every Christmas when I go down to bail my clients out of jail.

Christmas means skipping the rent payment to buy presents. Landlords scream for me to kick the tenants out; tenants demand that I file bankruptcy the minute credit cards are maxed. Ten more shopping days till Christmas, fa la la, la la la la.

The staff at my office set a plastic Christmas tree on an end table in the reception area. Like that¹s going to give me Christmas spirit.

I heard a deep male voice in the waiting room. Bah, Humbug. Another person without an appointment. Funny, he didn¹t sound distressed. How unusual. My receptionist sounded happy to see him.

Cowering in my chair, I waited for her to drag me out to meet another crisis-driven drop-in. Instead she plunked a giant fruit basket on my desk.

A guy dressed like Santa Claus brought it, she said.

I looked at the card. From a termite inspector I rarely use. The same stranger gave me an enormous fruit basket last year and one the year before. I never even thanked him, much less sent business his way.

Hum, maybe I can manage Christmas shopping after all. On Christmas Eve even my clients would be ashamed to complain about me slipping out for a few minutes.

Twas the night before Christmas and all through the mall not a creature was stirring except for me and 5,368 other last minute shoppers. The shelves were half empty, but the crowds had thinned and prices were reduced. I found a chess set, the Romans vs. the Egyptians for my husband. Too expensive to sell, it was now two thirds off. Reordered models of the latest computer games my children wanted arrived as I entered the store. Swan Lake Barbies for my granddaughters had been returned already.

The other tardy shoppers and I sighed with relief as we stood in line for the cashier. Maybe we can¹t match the smug complacency of those who brag that their Christmas shopping is finished in July, but we got the job done.

You could hear us exclaim as we drove out into the rapidly fading light, I promise I¹ll do better next year.

Maybe I¹ll even send my fruit basket Santa a thank-you note.