Holiday Art

When faced with paying admission to a local greenhouse/conservatory
which has always been free,
one of my sons said, "Let's go to the art museum instead!"
I had a thrill of surprised satisfaction, but replied, "Sure, if you guys want to."
In the most nonchalant way possible, of course - as if I wasn't excited at all.
And we spent about ninety minutes wandering through galleries, laughing and pointing.
Quizzing the chair sitters* and averting our eyes from 'excessive' immodesty displayed by marble figures.
And that became one of my favorite Christmas memories.
WHAT are those museum employees called anyway? Those who sit on tall chairs, equipped with walkie-talkies and spiffy jacket uniforms. Are they Guards? They don't seem to be Guides, since they also seemed puzzled about the special display of spit art. Are they Monitors - they warn you to step back when you get too close.   I know this.   Insomniacs definitely - who else could possibly stay
awake in a silent, empty room filled with antique art? Maybe there's some sort of contest going on, 
but I've never been able to sneak up on one nodding off ...

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