Sunday night, we went out and bought this year’s Christmas tree, which entailed making stops at two different places because, much to our surprise, the first place we went was selling Christmas trees made out of cocaine and gold bullion … as evidenced by the $100 price tags.
The second place had trees that looked identical to those available at the first, with the minor exception of containing neither narcotics nor precious metals. Just plain ol’ wood, priced at $45.
When we got home, I cut the twine that had held the tree in place atop our Honda, grabbed the tree itself with both hands, rolled it off the roof and brought it down trunk first as hard as I could, with the intention of slamming it on the driveway in order to shake out any loose pine needles … which would have worked perfectly had the plastic netting in which the tree was wrapped not gotten caught for a split second on one of the roof-rack rails, a mishap that altered the tree’s trajectory just enough so that I instead slammed the trunk squarely onto the top of my right foot. Ho ho hoAAAAAAAGHHHHHH!!!
Last night, my mother-in-law came over and helped us decorate the tree … an occasion that, much like last year, largely consisted of the children bickering over who got to hang which ornament. I’d have kicked them both in the ass, but my foot was too sore.