Happy Tree Friends

Every Christmas my grandfather used to tell the story of how the angel ended up on top of the Christmas Tree.  Every Christmas.  And it was not a short story.  But here is the gist of the story, abridged to suit the attention span of the texting generation.  And with some details changed. And possibly with some bits confused with the very conversation I had with the Fella yesterday.

God was sitting down trying not to be really angry at Descartes for his sub-standard proof of God's existence, and an angel came and asked him if they could have a Xmas tree.

Angel: God?
God: Yes, Gary.
Angel: Me and the other guys were wondering if we could have a Christmas tree.
God: No. You can't have a @#$%! tree.
Angel: Pleeease can we have a tree?  You won't have to do anything. I promise.
God: How much are they?
Angel: The RSPCA is selling them for $45.
God: @#$% off!
Angel: Pleeeeeeease?
God: No.  Leave me alone, you imaginary mediaeval nuisance.
Angel: Pleeeeeeeeeease?
God:  NOOOO.  @#$% off Gary.  You know where you can shove your tree.

And the angel did, and that's how the tradition began.

This year, after a few years of grunchiness (which is being a grinch who is always thinking about lunch), I decided I would like a tree.  And the Fella eventually agreed, although he knew it would fall to him to clean up the fallen needles.

And here is is.  A fine tree, n'est-ce pas?

Having never had a Christmas tree as grown-ups, we were somewhat short of decorations.  Hence the Snoopy strangled with ribbon in place of an angel.

And the reason there are no decorations on the bottom half?

Stuart eats most of the needles he pulls off, but the Fella vacuumed up the rest of them today.

Bless.