This past Christmas, Mrs. G. was sitting in her living room with her kids.
"Do you guys want a tree?" Mrs. G. asked, still convalescing from gallbladder surgery.
"Do you want a tree?" The asked back.
"No, I really need you to be honest with me so we can make this happen. Do you want a tree?"
They shrugged. "We want a tree because we know you want a tree."
"Wait. I only want a tree because I assumed you guys wanted a tree."
It was unanimous: no tree. They kept it simple with wreaths and their favorite traditional Christmas knick knacks: Putz houses, lit up London villages, unlimited peppermint bark.
When Mrs. G. came home after Mr. G. took her dinner for her birthday, this was sitting on the coffee table?
The kids had bought her a little tree for her birthday.
A little tree with sparkly white branches, a little Charlie Brown Christmas tree in drag.
Mrs. G. finds it so charming and in keeping with her modest white trash provenance, she has decided to leave it up all year. It is currently decorated for spring. Up next: Easter.