…how fucked up are your bran-ches?
Call us tree huggers, but every year we purposely choose some poor mutant tree that would otherwise find itself alone in the lot on Christmas Eve. We search for the most wretched looking thing we can find, bring it home and hang elegant blue, silver, and lavender glass ornaments on it. This year was no exception and we had every intention of giving it a good home. But…well…
Let’s start with the Christmas gifts sitting under it. When it comes to gift wrapping, I have no patience or pride in workwomanship. I used to try to make the gifts look nice, but they always come out looking like I wrapped them with my feet. I’ve given up. It’s what’s under the paper that matters, right? Of course it is.
If my substandard wrapping isn’t enough, the dog has been nosing through the gifts and partially unwrapping them. The cat never did seek help for his ribbon fetish, so anything in a bag with ribbon handles has either had them totally chewed off or munched full of little kitty teeth holes and is stiff from his frothy saliva/stomach bile. “Merry Christmas, here’s your spitty bag.”
My daughter has been hanging random things she finds around the house on it. There’s a pair of kid’s sunglasses, a rubber band, a piece of gimp with a single wooden bead on it, a square of toilet paper (unused of course), gold and silver bangle bracelets, a shoelace with 2 pieces of dried ziti dangling from it, an empty container of Italian Seasoning, Mrs. Potato Head’s purse, and an assortment of paper Hello Kitty ornaments she got out of a book my sister-in-law gave her.
In what is most certainly a suicide attempt, it stopped drinking sometime last week and now it’s so dried out that if you even think about looking at it, the needles rain down upon the mutant gifts. When Santa comes tonight, he’ll probably shriek in horror and be all ass and elbow right back up that chimney. I can’t say I blame him.
Merry Christmas everyone!