The Fretful Mother's Blog

I don’t even have a real tree and I have those pesky pine needles all over the place. I understand them being in the vicinity of the tree, but how the heck do they end up in my bed? I think it must be one of those Toy Story things in which they come to life when people aren’t around.
What the heck a pine needle wants to do, I don’t know. But apparently they are interested in hiding in my shoes, sticking to my hair and snuggling in my bed. How are there so many of them? We’ve had that tree for a good 10 years, and with the number of needles I find every year you’d think it would be bald by now. Come to think of it, I should have a Festivus pole in my living room by now.
That would be so much more appropriate. I have so many grievances to air. Plus, I’ve been working out, so I know I’d kick butt on the feats of strength. Of course, this would probably come back to haunt me later. Do I really want to raise my kids to turn into George Costanza? They’d be eating donuts out of the trash (we know how I feel about food sanitation), working for the Yankees (my family’s from Boston), and poisoning their fiancees (I am counting on grandchildren). I better stick to Christmas and hold onto as many pine needles as possible. You can never be too safe.

This entry was posted on December 24, 2009 at 11:03 am and is filed under Fear of the Day. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.