Monday we are going to slay a tree. Now I don't mind adopting one that's already been murdered, but I feel bad about killing one ourselves. My husband is the executioner, but I have final word on which life gets snuffed out. I feel like Pilate, with my children as the angry mob, and all those trees thinking "not me, not me..." When we cut a fresh one though, it doesn't get crispy right away like the precut ones do, so we opt for that when we can.
My daughter doesn't like trees to be cut down and has asked for a plastic one. I weighed the idea of a plastic tree vs. an eternal black stain on my soul, so we're off to the tree farm! I'm sorry, but plastic- just does not compute. That's like eating Tofurkey on Thanksgiving. It's so wrong that I'm afraid it could tear a hole in the space/time continuum.
No comments:
Post a Comment