Squatty McBush: The Prickly Pine

 Every year I think that it will turn out differently. Some day, I secretly yearn, we will be like a normal family. Almost immediately though, my hopes were dashed as we drove, in separate vehicles, to the Christmas tree farm like we were casual friends meeting at a coffee shop. We'd barely breached the perimeter line when Savannah pointed to a torpedo-shaped conifer and declared it "the one." Brad and I were very familiar with this maneuver: The Express X-mas Tree Selection strategy. Missile-shaped evergreens were systematically dismissed along with a bunny-shaped one. The perfect Mosiman tree was out there--I just knew it. We scoured the forest, finally reaching the opposite side when we saw it...bathed in a beckoningly ghostly green glow. As if by a tractor beam, we were drawn in, creating a human circle around its pine-y presence. "It's short," sighed Sydney, loving it despite its diminutive size. ""It's prickly," observed Savannah, immediately forgiving her little tree for stabbing an inquisitive finger. "There is something about it," Brad admitted as I pronounced it "Squatty McBush" despite Sydney's insistence that the name sounded slightly pornographic.

Dodging his deadly-sharp needles, we dragged Squatty McBush back to our truck and took him home. Wearing impenetrable gloves, I held Squatty McBush in place while the sound of a socket wrench rose from beneath his branches. "Okay...let it go," Brad said. I followed his instructions implicitly and was surprised when Squatty McBush toppled over onto my husband, impaling him. Despite this minor obstacle, Squatty McBush was soon adorned in blue and white lights, bearing the ornaments accumulated from the past twenty-six years upon his branches...a star, his kingly crown. Every year it's the same, I thought happily as I admired our little tree. I'm so glad that we're not a normal family.