This is the last of the Christmas shit. I promise.
Today was my favorite day of the season, the day I yearn for, that I long for each and every Christmas season.
Today was the day we took all the Christmas shit down and put it back in the garage where it belongs.
Woohoo. But as I was taking out the tree I felt kinda bad. Our tree this year, we’ll call her Kimba, was a perfect tree. She was supple and evergreeny and never dropped a needle. She was the model Christmas tree by which all others will be measured and come up wanting. She was the best.
I felt bad for her, so as I walked her out to the curb where some mangy guy in a beat up pickup truck always picks them up and does who knows what with them, I apologized.
I’m sorry Ms. Christmas Tree that we hacked you down in your adoloscence, I murmured.
I’m sorry Ms. Christmas Tree that we dragged your amputated corpse away from your family and friends in the nice cool forest, I whispered.
I’m sorry Ms. Christmas Tree that we planted you in a bucket of tepid water in our warm little house, I said soothingly.
I’m sorry Ms. Christmas Tree that we draped all kinds of Christmas shit all over you. I imagine it’s tough holding all that up for weeks on end, I said softly laying her down on the scrabby patch of crush and run at the edge of the road.
But mostly Ms. Christmas Tree? I’m sorry about the mangy guy in the beat up pickup truck that’s coming to get you, I said patting her and turning away, leaving her lying there alone and broken.