Once upon a time in October, a boy and a girl moved to a foreign country with their two small babies and a handful of earthly possessions.
They lived in a borrowed apartment while they were learning to speak the language and navigate daily life.
As Christmas approached, the girl was homesick and sad that she did not have her own Christmas decorations and a Christmas tree to put up.
The boy loved the girl, and it made him sad that she was sad. So he did the only thing he could think of. He got her a tree. (And she liked big trees.)
He left the superstore with the giant boxed up Christmas tree. He waited patiently for the correct city bus to arrive (they had learned which bus to take in their two months abroad, thank goodness). Then, he heaved his cumbersome load up the bus steps and waited nonchalantly with the other passengers.
The bus driver was curious about his foreign guest and motioned to the box and asked what the boy was doing.
The boy knew his bus routes but didn’t have such a solid grasp on the language yet, so he wasn’t sure exactly what the bus driver was asking, but figured it had to do with the awkward box he was transporting around town. So he shrugged and said, “My wife.”
And the bus driver nodded knowingly and pulled away from the stop.
The girl was so happy when the boy presented her the tree. She was still homesick and she still didn’t know how to order at Burger King, but she knew there was no one else she would rather celebrate Christmas far away from home with.