Humbug

Stupid fucking thing, I thought to myself as I threw the tree on the curb.

You know when Scrooge is with the Ghost Of Christmas Yet To Come and he sees his own grave?  He keeps insisting these events can be changed.  But despite how jolly or humbug he is, he will still die.  I don't get this.

I went back into the house and started coughing again.  I had put the whole tree together before I noticed it was trying to kill me.

I understand the Marleys telling him about the chains after he dies.  That makes sense... I guess.

Ryder didn't seem to mind the mold on the tree, but my poor lungs could not take it.  Sorry, Ryder, no tree this year, I silently conveyed to him.

And Scrooge was rich and had nice things.  So won't the poor loot his shit when he dies either way?

Apparently, not having a Christmas tree is some sort of sin or something, because everyone insisted that I had to have a tree.  I wasn't going to be at home on Christmas day, I explained, but this meant nothing.

Maybe this is all explained better in the book?  I tried reading it once, but Dickens was too hard for me.

When we got home that night, Santa (my mom) had set up a tree for us.  Ryder was really excited.  We decorated it right away.  I was convinced that the lights were moldy too, but they might have just been musty.  I'll get rid of them after Christmas either way.

The tree is beautiful and we had loads of fun, so I guess we did need the tree.  Then I remembered that I hadn't mailed the cards out yet.