This is the second year in a row (meaning it's a thing, now) of me wrestling down the Christmas tree at some ridiculous hour such as 3am. I get frustrated and bitter, wage some invisible war at my lack of help while fully conscious of the fact that the scenario is completely of my doing, leave the sucker on the front steps, and head to bed gruffly satisfied, sticky, and smelling of pine sap in my cute (also scented and semi-sappy) pajamas.
Next year I will break the cycle, oh-night-before-trash-day.
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