This is a DIFFERENT Christmas Story- no relation whatsoever to the famous movie where the kid may or may not have shot his eye out with a be-be gun. I wouldn't know because I've never watched the whole movie, and I don't find it funny when people get their tongues stuck to cold things because it hurts, and it can be dangerous and possibly embarrassing, depending on the specific circumstances. First Example: When he was but a wee lad, running wild and free-ish, Apache is rumored to have licked a free-standing metal Propane or natural gas tank and gotten stuck to it... by his tongue. The story always ends there, so I don't know if he pried himself off, or if somebody rescued him in a less-injurious manner. I also don't know what prompted him to act with such recklessness. You'd have to ask him about both, assuming his speech is understandable, considering the history of his tongue. Second Example: During super-busy times at work, one might find that one can accomplish much and still remain hydrated and sugared by simply using one's non-dominant hand for (oral, but I shouldn't have to clarify that, pervs) popsicle administration. One might discover the drawback to this one night when a popsicle suddenly adheres firmly to one's LIP. A grown-up woman (or man-not every story is about ME, you know) with a popsicle- related emergency in the workplace is something I don't believe many have experienced, witnessed, or considered. Obviously, one cannot simply rip the popsicle off because maybe she (or he) might be what is commonly referred to as a BLEEDER. Coworkers, formerly FRIENDS, had all developed whatever psychological or behavioral disorders that allowed them to see the humor, but NOT the danger, in the situation. (FYI: Sink, warm water, face under faucet, and a pact to never speak of The Popsicle Incident EVER again.) And NOW, for those of you still with me, here's the Christmas Story you were promised. I knew I was risking exposure to the elements when I decided to venture outside and into the coulded, shoulded, woulded wilderness back of the house a mere few days before Christmas. Some of the potential elements included a brisk breeze, the sight of the neighborhood riff-raff (Tommy), being struck by any number of unmonitored leaves being carried on the wind, minor smoke inhalation as all the stoopider people in the neighborhood insisted on using their fireplaces because the weather man (Tommy) issued warnings of the possibility of a severe light frost overnight. Also, you never know when it might sprinkle, mcflurry, or heck, it might even hail! All that being completely true, it is also true that this particular story has NOTHING whatsoever to do with the weather. Sorry, but I've found that often the detours are the most rewarding part of the journey. All I still needed (or so I thought) to prepare to be merry were 2 things I should be able to get for free (meaning: supplied by Nature, NOT stolen! Do you even KNOW me?!) right outside. Since I ended up spending the week in bed with the flu for Christmas, all my project planning ended in vain. Of course, pre-flu, I wanted, nay, NEEDED, to make my own, all natural, Charlie Brown style Christmas tree. For this purpose, I procured a suitably pitiful small pine tree limb, the kind that literally LITTER this area at all times. I also located a small, leafless branch, in JUST the right size, to decorate the dog to make him look like the Grinch's dog when the Grinch disguised him as a reindeer! These items were easy enough to find, but a bit damp from recent precipitation, being outside in a humid area, etc. I shook them out well (outside!), and examined them closely for signs of insect (or other) activity. None noted. I don't mean to brag, but I AM very nearly world-renowned in the field of Insectory, Buggery, Snakery, Rodentia, Spiderelia, and Other Disgusting Types of Nature, as Related to Their Inconvenience to Humans. Therefore, I was pretty confident bringing my treasures into my home. I turned the oven to its lowest setting, opened the oven door and placed "tree" and "antlers" on the open door to dry out. It's okay, I don't have small children. Once dry, they were removed and placed in the general vicinity of the massive amount of projects in various stages of completion that were accumulating on and around the kitchen table. "Projects in various stages of completion" is just code for: not one single project was done, and most were not even started yet. Several days into the X-Flu (it's like regular flu, except you get it at Christmas), I heard the sounds of panic ensuing on the other side of my sickroom door. Those engaged in the ruckus claimed my Charlie Brown Christmas pine tree limb AND my Grinch branch dog antlers were infested with some sort of insectory. Despite my weak protests, both were immediately discarded, back into the wilderness from whence they came. And that is MY Christmas Story. The tragic tale of how I spent a week in bed, deathly ill, and with NO homemade Charlie Brown tree or branch-antlered dog to comfort me. Not exactly the feel-good story you were expecting, huh?
P.S. If you gave me a present, Thank you. However, I don't remember what it was.
This is the artificial tree I had to buy because Nature was being a jerk.