Chop That Tree (part 3 - Margaret Ullrich)

God, it was cold.

I thought I had dressed warmly.  

That fink, the ditzy receptionist, showed up looking like the Michelin Man.  She was ready to march to Thompson if necessary.  So were the three other women co-workers.  The other wives - who all knew better - had begged off.  One was even pregnant.  Or said she was.

I was alone with four career women who were full of the "I am woman, hear me roar" career fever.  While they talked shop I felt as welcome as a lump of coal in a Christmas stocking. 

The Jewish co-workers - who I had hoped would keep the tree hunt frenzy within limits - had turned into lumberjacks.  They were also ready to march to Thompson if necessary.  

After walking five minutes I couldn't feel my toes.  

We hadn't even gotten out of the parking lot.  

I was doomed. 

I didn't know it could get that cold. 

We marched.  Finally, someone approved of a tree.  The men chopped.  The tree crashed.  The branches that hit the ground broke off the tree.  

I said, "The bare side could be placed against a wall."  

The heat from their glares should have restored my circulation.  

It didn't.

part 4