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December 10, 2002 half the sap I loathe shopping.  So when I roll into the white shell parking area of the Messiah Christmas Tree Lot, I know I will consummate the tree purchase faster than my first sexual encounter.  And with half the sap. I do not select Christmas trees for their shape, type, or cost.  I buy the first tree I see or, more precisely, I buy the first tree that "speaks to me."  As it happens, the first tree I see always speaks to me. I am jarred by the sickening sound of steel on conifer.  The first tree I see is one lying on the ground, its wooden stand splintered by my left front tire.  I swear at the anarchy.  There is no ordinance prohibiting coeds from walking past Christmas tree lots during regular business hours. I gaze upon the stricken spruce and listen to its death rattle. "I don't blame you," whispers the tree. I call to the lot attendant. "I'll take this one."

©  2002 by the beastmaster