The Evil Tree

One fine day, some General came on the military base that I live at and declared that base housing had no curb appeal.

This caused people to panic—“oh noes, a General is unhappy!’ and then suddenly it was announced that flowers and trees would be planted in the housing area.

The thing is, I don’t have plants in my yard. Because I kill them. But the base didn’t care. They appeared in everyone’s yards and started planting things, even when people would complain.

Want to know the kicker?

They said if the plants died that we’d have to pay for them.

I might as well write a check now. Because the plants will die. I have a black thumb and plants shrink away from me when they see me coming. I imagine rose bushes having conversations with the daisies—“brace yourself, lad, Amber is coming.”

We weren’t here when our stuff was planted. So when we came home, there were the plants.



Oh, and this sad looking tree.



I hate how they just planted it in our yard. That just gives me something else to have to avoid when I mow. And the tree is sad, something out of a Charlie Brown special. We even called base housing and they were all, “Oh, the antelopes like to chew on them. It’s your job to nurse it back to health.”

“Actually, it’s YOUR job to nurse it back to health because you planted the crappy thing, you twat!” I retorted.

Well. I didn’t really say it. But I thought it.

The tree is stubborn and doesn’t want to return from the brink of death.

Our plants look like they’ve seen better days.

Knowing the military they planted all the cheap will-die-in-a-month stuff anyhow. That way they can be all, “Oh, you owe us for that,” and make some extra cash.

Know something else about the tree?

I keep thinking that it’s a person. I’ll walk past the front door, do a double take and think, “Why is a person just standing in our yard?”

It’s worse at night.

When I walk into our bedroom, the window is right in front of me so I’m constantly thinking, “Who is in our yard? Do I have a stalker?”



Tom is used to my paranoia. So the other night when I went, “Who is that?” he replied without a worry in his voice, “It’s the tree, Amber.”

I hate the tree! I have daydreams about pulling it from the ground and hurling it onto the street with a sign that reads: “Dear Military—don’t want it, but thanks anyway.”

The antelope won’t stop eating it. I had to run out and shoo them away and my neighbors were outside so they probably think I’m an animal hater. I ran out there with my arms waving in the air shrieking, “Step away from the ugly tree!” If PETA saw that they’d probably issue a statement saying something like, “Amber, a blogger, was seen yelling at defenseless antelope who were minding their own business.”

But they weren’t minding their own business. They were chewing up the tree that I didn’t even want. Now it looks like it’s dead and I refuse to pay for something that I didn’t kill.

I hope you’re happy, FE Warren AFB.