Sunday afternoon, Team Rogers made its annual Yuletide sortie to Home Depot for a Christmas tree. We went to the location on Garland Road, over the objections of my wife, who wanted to go to the location on Skillman because a co-worker of hers had told her the selection there was better. As I explained, though, we’d have to transport the tree farther, which would mean —
Never mind. Let’s not bog down in that whole debate. We went to the location on Garland.
So we are in the tree tent. Me personally, I’m feeling a bit claustrophobic, what with the mask and the close quarters and the other tree shoppers disregarding the one-way signage. The missus grabs an approximately 9-foot noble fir, stands it up, and asks for my opinion.
“Too tall,” I say. “We do this every year.”
I am 6 feet tall. We live in a midcentury modern with a sloping ceiling. At its lowest point, where we put the tree, I can reach up and nearly touch the ceiling. So every year I stand next to the first four or five trees she selects, and I raise my hand as high as it will go, and I say, “Too tall.”
This is what I’m doing Sunday — standing next to the tree with my hand raised like I’ve got a pressing question and am eager to be called upon — when the missus lets go of the tree. The tree falls into the aisle where a 4-year-old boy is innocently walking, unaware of the dangers that surround him. He’s probably thinking about Oreos. Bam. The noble fir scores a direct hit, takes him cleanly off his feet.Read More