How did I get myself into this mess? It always has an innocent start. Habits turn into obsessions. Once a year, a tree lures me in Boxes seductively wrapped, reclining on one another. The pre-guessing begins. But, oh, the bag! That siren! The shifty shape didn’t elicit a proper guess, And so, obsession, that merciless dog, ate the habit In one swift gulp.  Home alone, It was okay to sneak a peak Tissue paper savagely strewn across the floor Gift in hand Five days premature, He walked around the corner. Caught red-handed. Sad for a girl of thirty years.