This is my car. That’s not cargo, that’s a fully dressed Christmas tree refusing to wear a seatbelt.
Ornaments clank like loose change, the star is one pothole away from achieving flight, and the entire setup screams “festive decision made without planning.”
Some people take Christmas down after the holidays. I said, absolutely not. I’m not driving a car, I’m piloting a mobile winter wonderland with questionable aerodynamics. Wherever I park, Christmas arrives unannounced. Neighbors don’t ask if it’s Christmas, they ask why it’s here again.
Because Christmas doesn’t live at my house.
It rides with me.
