Head Games

Pre-Thanksgiving tradition: Clifford and I drive an hour away to a family farm in northern Georgia to get our Christmas tree every year. We do this because as a Hoosier at heart, I believe Christmas trees are meant to be sought and chopped. None of these pre-cuts from a commercial lot. One needs to work to find his perfect match. You have to sift through the masses, scrutinize your selection from all sides, take a moment to compare it to its surrounding mates, nitpick its flaws and then when you’ve finally found the right one, tear it down. A lot like dating, actually. I love it. Clifford hates it, but that’s par for the course.

 In a nutshell – we came.

Tree Farm

 We Saw.

The One

 And then Rockefeller Center landed in our living room.

Rockefeller Center

But that wasn’t the best part! This year’s annual expedition to the backwoods of our fine state brought an even bigger smile to my face. What began as an inside joke had finally taken root the way it was always meant to do.

Clifford says to me – “Buy me some t-shirts.”

Me – “What kind of t-shirts?”

Clifford – “I don’t care. Just buy them, woman.”

Me – “You got it, buddy.”

So I buy the shirts. This one included.

Best Shirt Ever

Did I make this purchase because Clifford is Foreigner’s number one fan? No. I bought it because my husband is a green card carrying member of the American immigrants club. I thought it was funny. He didn’t. But he wears it anyway.  As we arrived at the farm, a nice older gentleman smiled and began some small talk. Before Clifford or I could say a thing, he saw the shirt and said, “Oh hey! You’re a foreigner? Wow. Where you from?” It took everything in me not to laugh out loud. 1. Because Clifford was forced to converse with an actual person (and he hates people) 2. Because my shirt totally worked!

As the conversation continued and I revealed I was actually not a foreigner, just a damn Yankee from the Hoosier state, the man started talking about his connections to Indiana and I.U. specifically. He asked if I’d ever heard of Dr. Kinsey. One of our state’s claims to fame – Dr. Kinsey the famous SEX DOCTOR! Of course I knew who he was. Well this gentleman, who’d pegged my husband as an alien in a strange land just by the clothes on his back,  was Dr. Kinsey’s nephew! How crazy is that?

So this year’s trip yielded the perfect tree, an AWESOME win for yours truly, and the acquaintance of Dr. Kinsey’s nephew. So make small talk, people, because it’s all six degrees. And likely great conversation.