“I want a real tree.”
“I like white ones.”
“What? You mean plastic trees?”
“Yup.” Gary flipped through the Target magazine of pre-lit-plastic-monstrosities.
“Oh,” Samantha looked at her sparkling engagement ring, “we should have talked about this before.”
One of Gary’s black brows arched up. “You mean instead of life goals and children.”
“Yeah,” Samantha exhaled heavily, “plastic trees are pretty much a deal breaker.”
Fighting back a smile, Gary rubbed his chin. “Go look in the truck.”
Samantha ran to the window. The rough boughs of a Douglas fir swayed in the cutting breeze. She squealed.
Gary sauntered up behind her, “Like my dad always said,” his breath tickled her neck, “‘happy wife, happy life'”.