My morning was going to consist of bringing my car in for maintenance, for working on a website, and for swinging by the ice skating rink to sign up for continued skating lessons for the sprouts. An ambitious day would follow with a gym visit, and superman mama day would included a stop at the Apple store for a new computer charger and ipad cover (nothing glamorous or even immediately pressing, but wanted just the same). Instead, after french toast and bacon breakfasts and kids out the door, I sit beside my pre-lit faux tree, the one that refuses to light in just one patch, and I do a search for, “i plugged the wrong male into the tree trunk and now it won’t come out fake tree.”

No one in my house really knows what a fuse is. And to be honest, I don’t think that’s even the issue. There was this dangling male end of a cord, and a female slot in the “bark” in the “trunk” of the tree. So, wouldn’t ya think, they’d make a nice little hookup? Stars did not light up like Paris when I got those two together. Nothing happened at all, except for the fact that now, the two refuse to be split apart. They’re like obstinate lovelorn teens. Phil tried and couldn’t, with all his might. This morning, I even tried again with rubber gloves to yank him out of her. No go. I’m certain I’ve got the order wrong, that some other male cord belongs in that tree slit. Now, I’ve gone and made her a whore, and she’s loused up my morning plans. Nervy is all I can say.

I wish I were the type who could just go onward with my day. Instead I’ll spend all of today trying to fix it, searching online, visiting Home Depot, searching for a solution, and my production for things that actually matter will plummet. Or, I’ll ignore it, and I’ll sit uneasy all day, taunted and plagued, by my turd of a tree. Happy Holidays!