Igor had been insistent on experiencing everything, and that meant he needed a tree with all the tacky ornaments that were traditionally made by children. The good news was we were a group of twenty- to thirty-year-old men, mostly single, and almost all of us lacking any artistic ability. Our popsicle reindeer and paper snowflakes looked much the same as the ones that hung on my parents’ tree that my siblings and I had decorated twenty to thirty years earlier.
