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But it is a problem no longer...apparently...

“I have sorted the Christmas tree problem.”


“I was not aware we had a Christmas tree problem. Unless you count the three I have stored in the garage and the five I have thrown out over the years. So you want me to go and steal another live one from a state forest? Cool. I’ll get my axe.”


“No fool. I have found the perfect Christmas tree.”


“Fuck…you haven’t gone and bought one of those rich-people trees I’ve seen on TV?”


“That Balsam Hill bullshit? I was going to, because I thought it was like an instant tree you just kinda flip open and it comes out with lights and balls and tinsel…”


“And it doesn’t? Fuck. I thought it did too. Maybe you have to be wearing a nice dress and high heels, and I have to lay down white marble tiles in the house for that magic to happen?


“That slut can get fucked. Who the fuck wears that shit around the house when they’re putting up their Christmas tree?”


“Rich people who have Balsam Hill Christmas trees. And why this sudden resurgence in Christmas spirit? You told me a month ago Christmas can get fucked, we’re not doing anything, and we’re going to your dad’s place instead.”


“Nothing is resurging. It can still get fucked. All we can do is get through it. But Andrew’s coming up, and some kinda of Christmas tree-thing would be…well, right. He’s our son after all.”


“He’s not 12, you know.”


“Shut-up. He is to me.”


“OK, so how have you resolved this Christmas tree problem?”


“I told you. I’ve found the perfect tree.”


“That’s not fucking possible.”


“Maybe for you, as your years of man-failure in securing an epic tree for the family have proved.”


“Are you fucken crazy? I have secured entire forests of fucking trees, real and Chinese, for the family! How can you forget that three-metre-tall bastard I hauled home one year? I needed a chainsaw to cut it down and a set of bolt-cutters to get through the prick’s plantation fence. I even had a club to kill his guard dogs if he had any.”


“And what happened when you brought it home?”


“I had to cut in half because it wouldn’t fit in the house, and then I had to go and buy another $500 worth of Christmas tree decorations because we did not have enough.”


“And then what?”


“Then it all fell over one night and tore a hole in the lounge, and smashed some of the presents we put under it.”


“And then what happened?”


“You said unkind things to me.”


“And then what happened?”


“My mind’s a blank after that.”


“Mine’s not. I made you haul it out to the backyard, where it sat drying out for the next five months, then when you set fire to it, some of the fence also went up, and my cousin had to come and help you build a new one, then you shot him with his nail gun and he couldn’t work anymore.”


“That was a great day, that.”


“That cannot happen with our new tree. It’s perfect.”


“Is that so?”


“Yep. It’s 60cm tall. It needs no assembly. You plug it into the wall and the ends of its branches light up in an ever-changing cascade of beautiful Christmassy colours. I don’t need to decorate it. It comes fully festive out of the box. And it costs $30 from Big W.”


“You are the greatest woman that ever lived.”


“We might have to turn it off at night so it doesn’t catch fire, though.”



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Boris Mihailovic

Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.

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