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Fingerhut Treehouse


A few days ago I was surprised by a thick, hefty Fingerhut catalogue in my mailbox. I did not request this catalogue, and I hadn't seen a Fingerhut catalogue since I was a child. My gramma used to get them (only back then, Fingerhut catalogues were a lot smaller). The last time I spoke of FIngerhut was when my cousin March came to visit for the winter many moons ago. She would've married the heir to the Fingerhut fortune had it not been for that meddling Tucker and his confounded waxed Chevron moustache. One stiff-bristled look and she was under his waxy spell. March was always a sucker for moustaches, ever since we used to watch Magnum P.I. at gramma's house.

I flipped through the catalogue pages, reminiscing about my moustache-crazy cousin and her two delinquent daughters--Terra and Flora fell for moustaches, too. (I'm pretty sure it's an inherited trait passed down from March's hairy daddy, as it doesn't show up anywhere else in the family tree.) Neighbor Stan next door put a spell on the girls, but by the grace of Saint Chuck I had all the ingredients for an abortifacient that snow-bound winter.

I gasped when I saw the red pine tree in the catalogue. Yes, it's an artificial Christmas tree. 'Tis the season. But I had never seen a RED artificial pine Christmas tree until then. Many moons ago my Ranger Carl chocked on a hazelnut and become one with the giant pine tree in the backyard. His blood mixed with the tree sap, and now the needles ooze red every spring. Perhaps the Fingerhut delivery is a sign. Hazelnuts for Christmas this year.

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