The Tree
We went to buy a Christmas tree yesterday.The first lot we stopped at had a clean-cut young man sitting on the bed of a pickup truck. He was so clean that he squeaked.
"These are nice trees," Gloria said as we walked through the tent.
"No way," I said. "We're not getting a tree here."
"Why not?" she asked.
"This guy isn't a tree carnie," I said.
"A what?"
"A tree carnie," I said. "The people who work at tree lots every year that have tattoos, look like they haven't showered in a week, and sleep in a trailer. They chainsaw the trunk and bag it up in a minute. They know the lore.
"Christmas trees have lore?" Gloria asked.
"Only if you're a tree carnie," I said.
We drove to a second lot, walked in, and started looking at trees. Gloria whispered "tree carnies," and I nodded.
We bought a tree.
On the way home, Eli 6.4 got several chances to indulge in his new hobby--posing for pictures as we pass the payment lanes on the tollway. He thinks that the little flash of light when we pass the through the toll tag lane takes a picture that someone will be looking at later. This means that he poses in the most ridiculous way imaginable every time we pass a toll both.
Actually, he's got all of us doing it now. Just in case.
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