ABOUT THAT CHRISTMAS TREE

SPEAKING OF INSIDE THE BOX, GUESS WHERE MY CHRISTMAS TREE IS? OUTSIDE the box as promised! I had threatened to leave it up in the living room for ever and ever, amen, but true to form and compulsion, I took the damned thing down on New Year's Day, just as I have done with every Christmas tree we've ever had since the earth cooled or whenever it was when we got married. I did not, however, NOT, stuff it back in the dreaded box, tape it in there to make sure it wouldn't escape, and throw it up on the top back shelf in the garage! I am a woman of my word, within limits, of course.

I stripped off the ornaments, sorted them, wrapped them, and placed them carefully in some of those swell plastic containers made for such things by obsessive compulsive nitwits who make such things. I left the lights, of course, especially since they are PERMANENT, and left the tree completely assembled and upright in its stand. Then I unceremoniously tipped it on it's side, and dragged it through the house and down the basement stairs. It went thump, thump, thump all the way down -- but wait, Houston, we have a problem! Yikes! But, of course: the three sections of the tree pulled loose from each other but remained semi attached by the light wires, strung out over the full flight of steps. SOB, I said, as the stand also dropped off and bounced the rest of the way down. Oh, crap, I said. I picked up the stand at the bottom of the stairs, placed it in a special spot on the blue-painted cement floor, dragged the three semi-connected sections of the tree by its top where the star goes, the rest of the way down, ka-bump, ka-bump, ka-bump, and across the floor. I shoved the sections of the now bent-up tree back together and jammed it into its stand, hoisted it upright, and covered it top to bottom with black plastic garbage bags. I felt proud! I was a woman of my word! The Christmas tree was the living Christmas tree I had promised! Scratching my arms and searching for a Benedryl in my pocket, I started back up the stairs, wondering how the living Christmas tree was going to feel about living in the bottom of my rotten hell hole of a dusty, dirty, awful, smelly basement under black plastic bags for a year. "Sweet dreams," I said.

Now that's pretty silly!