Three weeks ago, Critter helped me carry the newly cut Christmas tree into the little cottage, and Varmint helped me put it up in the stand. My Captain was working overtime, having an overly developed sense of fiscal responsibility.
I keep telling him they’ve done away with debtor’s prisons, but he doesn’t believe me. It’s very sad.
Varmint held the sweet little evergreen tree as I screwed the bolts of the stand into the trunk. It held. We were pleased.
And went on about our business.
Fast forward, three weeks later:
It is leaning into the wall and….
…alarmingly to the left.
My Captain, who normally is in charge of anything construction or structurally related in our house, has been kind about this unfortunate turn of events. He has not criticized. He has not condemned. He has not even snickered or teased.
But if anyone comes to visit us, he is very quick to say, “I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT,” and unhesitatingly throws me under the bus.
Look, the way I see it is, if it hasn’t actually fallen, and it makes it to New Years, when we take it down, it’s fine. Charlie Brown had a crooked little tree, and it charmed the socks off of everyone. So what if ours is very, er, angular, and has a rubber chicken in it? It’s still dag-gum charming!
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.