Not Very Christmas-y

We are going to get our Christmas tree today.  Dave maintains that it is too early.  I maintain that Dave should shut up because the trees have all been cut already.  You're not going to get any fresher tree if you buy it today or on the 23rd.  Cut.  End of story.  I will say that I now approach this day with a fair amount of trepidation.  Several years ago, when my parents still had a house in Breck, they came down to Denver to purchase their tree.  There is a place here called Jared's that has famously expensive but pretty nice trees.  If you've been following along, you'll recall my mom and the Presidential turkey.  She's a sucker for that kind of stuff.  Oh, and if "Oprah has it/bought it/likes it"?  Forget about it.  Sold. So anyway, the family piles into whatever gigantic SUV mom and dad had at that point and sets out to find the perfect tree.  After scores had been summarily dismissed as offensive in their imperfection, we finally found one that was beyond reproach. It was also about the size of the Rockefeller Plaza tree. Very "National Lampoon Christmas Vacation".  This is how my family rolls. So it's paid for, run through that crazy tree-bagging thing and hoisted by crane (well, not really but it was that big) on top of the car.  We're doing that thing where you're tossing rope back and forth at each other and going about securing the tree.  Because this mother of all trees was being driven back up the mountain it was all the more critical that it be tied on but good.  So anyway,I'm standing on the running board leaning towards the top of the car and the tree and trying to make myself useful. What is to follow is so horrible that my memory of everything leading up to the event is a little fuzzy.  Suffice to say, somehow my boob got slammed in the car door. Like "have to open door to get it out" slammed.  I cannot begin to tell you how much this hurt.  I believe there was blood involved.  And a fair amount of screaming.  I'm normally pretty stoic in the face of pain but PLEASE.  If you've ever had your boob slammed in a car door, (and who amongst us hasn't) you will understand where I am coming from. Even worse was the fact that my entire family found this to be completely hysterical.  Dad:  "I told you those things were going to get you into trouble some day".  Very funny.  Mom:  "Goobie, do you think we should go to the emergency room?" Me: "Oh, yes Mom, let's go to the ER so I can whip out my egregiously injured left one and be the laughingstock of the entire place.  Yes, let's do that".  Like they're going to put it in a sling or something. The moral of the story is that if you have boobs, don't assist with putting Christmas trees on top of cars.  That's what men are for.  Although that brings to mind a few things I wouldn't mind slamming in car doors.  And I'm not talking about mustaches.