Don't laugh. I'm no Einstein, but I'm told I'm pretty smart by very intelligent people. So how come my much adored investment is dying on me when it's only the friggin' seventh of March? Spring hasn't even started. Could I blame the economy? Everything is going down the drain so why not my investment? Why should I be so lucky? Right? Right? It must be the economy.
Oh who am I kidding. I know you all think it's me. That I did it. That somehow my darling's imminent demise is my fault. You think so? Ha! That's what you think! I gave it all my love. I asked, "How was your day, my Little Christmas Tree?" I bought my baby presents and TV dinners too. I called it sweetheart. I told her about my day and how I really didn't want to beat Hank, but if that's what she wanted me to do, well, she knew I would do it. I'm a man, not a boy. You know... for her.
And yet, the signs were there. Last week, I noticed how her brand new baby branches were starting to sag like my belly and my... well, that's private. Like the stock market? Yeah, that's it! Just like the stock market. I thought we had a wonderful thing going, and now my hopes were shot to shit. Pardon my French. Her light green baby branches... were dying too. My offspring. So I gave her a bit more booze and begged her, "Please stay with me." I started singing, "Silent night, holy night..." But to no avail. And then the second sign closed the dead of death: her Christmas lights went poof. Just like that. So here she is, my dying Christmas tree. I know she won't be mine much longer — if she ever was. Maybe I should sing her a final Christmas song.
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|Her light green branches . . .|