Did Someone Say Candied Pineapples? It's Christmas Eve!

Christmas eve is fun. In the last hour, I have performed a medley of snappy showtunes with only a wrapping paper tube as my prop... [A sampling: Fiddler on the Roof, fiddle; On the Good Ship Lollipop, lolly(lolli?); Singin' in the Rain, 'brella; All That Jazz, boa [shut up]; Let's Get Physical, barbell -- okay, maybe that's not technically a showtune, but it comes in way under the Kevin Bacon rule, as Olivia Newton John was in Grease -- and one degree is nothing unless you're trying to boil hydrochloric acid... and if you're trying to boil hydrochloric acid on Christmas eve (or any day, for that matter, unless, well, it's your job... but, even then, still...), then you have bigger fish to fry than naysaying my showtune pickins'.]
I have also questioned my mother about exactly what constitutes a "ficus plant." I just feel like "ficus plant" is the perfect random noun to use in a mad lib, or the quintessential object...
I give you the following exchanges:

Person A: "Whaddaya wanna do tonight?"

Person B: "I dunno...why don't you ask the ficus plant."


Person U: "You never pay attention to me! Are we drifting apart?"

Person M: "Maybe. Try complaining to the ficus plant. See if it cares."

See? Synechdote for all that is nonsense.
My dearest friends, I believe it is possible to fall madly and deeply in love with a ficus plant.

Furthermore, as a final happy Christmas Eve-y note, I cannot forget to mention that I will Fight Club-style fight anyone who contests that the ficus plant is not the fulcrum of the I Ching. I double-dog dare you.


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