There is a line to go through security at the airport in Kelowna. Hurry up and wait, after zipping across town because I left work late I am now standing in a line that makes three zig zags and then snakes out into the lobby and towards the door.
I wonder if there was ever a Columbo Christmas special. At the very least there had to have been a Christmas episode. Something with a grand theme of world peace and the brotherhood of humanity entangled with the murder of a beautiful young actress famous for getting out of a pool in a tiny bikini. The plot would at first lead us to believe that the murderer was her agent, tying to cover up the torrid affair the two were having on tables and couches in casting offices across the state.
Columbo would know better of course. Playing it close to the vest, and aided not by forensic evidence but by a keen understanding of human nature, he would deduce that it was in fact a mall Santa who had become dangerously infatuated with her when in a previous holiday season she'd been an elf to his Chris Kringle.
It would end with a musical montage set to a popular, though public domain, Christmas carol. There would be tears and toasts. There would be tits and ass. It would be a X-Mas spectacular.
Is Peter Falk still alive?