the last unicorn

LYING ON THE couch at the end of a long day, I never wanted to get up again. Not even for Christmas.

“We don’t have to put up the tree,” my wife, Kelly, said from the doorway. “It will be Christmas either way.”

I really wanted to take her up on that offer. But why should Kelly not have a tree just because the holiday made me sad? “Maybe in a while,” I said, trying to sound cheerful.

“That’s the good thing about artificial trees,” she said. “You can put them up