I have what’s come to be called the “Bordello Tree” in my window — the garish glow of a white, fiber optic Christmas tree, about 3 feet tall, set in a gold-colored plastic pot, with red, plastic balls and a red, plastic star shining atop.

In the movie, “A Christmas Story,” Ralphie has the “glow of electric sex” from the infamous Leg Lamp standing in the living room window.

I have what’s come to be called the “Bordello Tree” in my window — the garish glow of a white, fiber optic Christmas tree, about 3 feet tall, set in a gold-colored plastic pot, with red, plastic balls and a red, plastic star shining atop.

The whole thing dims and brightens in waves up and down, tinting blue, then red and then white, before fading and then starting the whole cycle all over again.

Of course, the red balls and star blink off and on.

It qualifies as a Christmas tree only in the loosest interpretation of the term and ranks right down there with chaser lights.

My friend bought it at Home Goods, brought it home and almost fell over laughing unpacking it.

“I, ha, ha, ha, ha, talked the guy down to he, he, he, he, to, giggle, giggle, giggle,” she eked out before dropping to the floor, first to her knees and then into a fetal position, wrapping both arms around her stomach.

“I, ah, oh, giggle, giggle, snort, talked him down to $4.99. Ah, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha! Isn’t it ah, he, ho, ho, great!”

“Yes. It’s just wonderful,” I answered, desperately wishing the thing would short out, smoke the electrical cord and melt in a “Deus ex Machina” stroke of Christmas decorating justice.

"O Tannenbaum," indeed.   I am, I admit, something of a Christmas snob.

I don’t listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. I always put up my outdoor lights shortly after a meal of turkey leftovers. The tree must be real and doesn’t go up until the weekend before Christmas and stays up through New Year’s. I don’t put out the Christmas cookies I make until after Christmas Eve dinner. I have a collection of hand-carved Santas I’ve gathered over the years from places as far away as Germany, New Orleans, Florida, Maine and Tennessee. My daughters even brought home Santas from their trips to Hawaii and Australia.

I have a wooden nutcracker that was a decoration in my childhood.

I own about 15 Christmas ties, which I actually wear between Thanksgiving and New Year’s.

So this, this “tree” hardly fits into my concept of a Christmas decoration — more like a Christmas abomination.

Yet it remains.

At first it was just a joke. To be taken down after the humor wore off. But something in the plan went awry.

The derisive laughter turned to smiles. This thing was morphing into the Charlie Brown Christmas Tree — in reverse. So trashy it transcends tastelessness. So kitschy as to be chic.

In all that snobby derision, it simply blinked on. Ignorant of its own hideousness. Glowing happily into the December gloom.

Dan Mac Alpine is senior editor of the Beverly Citizen in Beverly, Mass.