The Boy and I haven’t said a word for 30 seconds. We stare at the Christmas tree that had been pulled out of the outside storage closet, dusted off, and put up at the last minute. The wire limbs are wonky and the lights are still tangled. I know that he’s thinking the same thing that I am. Why did we put this thing up anyway? and, more importantly, which one of us is more obligated to take it down?

I wonder absently if it would be socially acceptable to leave the tree up all year. We’ll decorate it according to season. Why couldn’t there be a St. Patrick’s tree?

“Technically,” he says finally, “Christmas is 12 days long.” I glance at him and grin. This is why we work together.

It’s decided. We’ll deal with it on January 6th.