Sadly when it comes to trees, I can’t tell a Spruce from a Goose or an Oak from a goat but society fawns all over the impolite pollen polluters. Maybe it doesn’t take a sweaty arborist to read ‘tween the rings around my collar, but I sure could use one to take a bead on the leaves and the dirty deeds of my evil trees. I may not know cones, needles or nuts, unless they are with ice cream, sewing, or insane n’ salty mutts like me, but trees should really learn some manners just like the rest of us.
Maybe my problem with trees is because just like the government I think they are all rooted in dirt, thrive on manure, and have too many branches for their own good. Or maybe no matter how hard I have tried to ‘be-FROND’ trees and win them over with my ever green sleeved advances, I have had to face the fact that ‘mulch’ of their personalities are wooden. I know it can get a little scary out in the elements but at least I don’t turn yellow at the first sign of frost and give everyone around me the silent treatment day in and day out.
Usually the tall and shady will show me their frequent disapproval of social norms by dropping hard hints, sticks, and twigs on my truck top as well as the knock knot on my soft locks. Though it’s probably not a surprise that trees n’ me don’t get along since I have been known to abuse their kinfolk PAPER, in both the bathroom and with penned puns. They’re just envious that I’m not frightened by the flames on my colorfully stylish swim trunks and I can at least take mine off once in awhile to air out when ants are crawling up ‘em.