I Am Not A Reliable Narrator

19 December 2006

oliver is a hater

i was going to put up a picture of oliver lounging beneath the christmas tree but i haven't uploaded it yet. so picture it, london, 2006, an adorable kitten sleeping under a slightly jenky (janky, how do you spell that) christmas tree, he looks content and happy, he appears to love the christmas tree.

but the next day, our narrator and heroine returns home to find ornaments everywhere! the earmuff wearing styrofoam snowman, he's wedged under the sofa. the picture of some cadles stuck between a couple pieces of contac paper with a doily and som glitter, oh, it is forlornly laying on the floor. the beaded white ornament, is rocking back and forth, its wounds still fresh from the battering of our feline foe! worst of all, the poor foam gingerbread lady has found herself a few toes short, was it frostbite? no, it was oliver's attack on christmas!

what has caused this antipathy towards my khan's bargain bin tree? why does oliver hate it so, i've sprayed it with pine essecital oil to make it seem less plastic, does he resent the presence of this almost tree in his home? does he reject the consumerist and capitalist hijacking of this our lord and saviour's birthday? is he, like his adoptive father, a jew and therefore in oppostion to all christmas goodwill? or does he just want outside more? this great mystery may never be solved, but until boxing day he shall be known as oliver scrooge, hater of cristmas and its ornaments.

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