This year, our Christmas tree is a real beaut--a Fraser fir, probably about six and a half feet tall, perfectly shaped and full. It is also drunk, based on the number of times it's fallen.
Christmas Eve, it fell directly onto our son D as he was fooling with the lower branches. I was right there but I wasn't in time to stop it. Instead, I used my superhuman strength to pull it off him and return it to its place while K used her superhuman vacuum to clean up the broken ornaments.
The second time it fell was last night, apparently because of the cat, as K and I were settling down for the proverbial long winter's nap. It was a thunderous crash, and we went downstairs; this time I employed the vacuum.
We have a particular favorite ornament which we got for our first Christmas together back in '95; it's a simple glass ball with silver stripes, but very classy. Remarkably, it stayed on the tree after the first fall; after the second it was on the floor and I picked it up.
"Is it okay?" K asked.
"Yep," I said, examining it. "Not a scratch. Incredible!"
I put it down on D's drawing table while I started to help cleaning up. I placed it a little too close to the edge.
Do I really need to describe what happened next?