Before the storm hit we had already gone down to Morse Sugar Farm to get our tree. It's strange to think that I only started getting a real tree during my previous relationship, meaning that for over fifty years I always had a fake tree. I'm sure there's some great metaphor here, which, as usual, I'm too dense to understand.
Janet fought against my urge to get the smallest and saddest tree (because it makes me sad that they're going to spend Christmas Eve alone and unloved in the lot) and instead brought home this beauty.
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