On Christmas Eve my father took me to Harold's Bar & Grill where everybody patted him on the back and bought him rounds. We then went out searching for the perfect tree. Father was so jolly and we laughed and laughed while looking at the few rejected trees remaining. Resembling a forlorn puppy, we picked the tree most needing a home. We put up the tree, and it tilted at a perfect 45 degree angle. My sister joined in on our laughter. Mother walked in and slapped my father so hard that the sound has never stopped.
submitted at 4:09am
16 November 2011