A month ago I convinced The Husband to get rid of our old, artificial Christmas tree and let’s get a real one this year!!
Ol’ Artificial was just that. Old. And artificial. And starting to fall apart. And I was just plain sick of storing the massive box in one of very few storage spaces in our overflowing-with-random-crap apartment.
And Ol’ Artificial was too big. We’d put it in the same spot year after year and, for a month, I’d have to climb over various obstacles to get to my desk.
Pain in the ass, I tell ya.
So, out with the old and artificial and off we went in search of a real, live Christmas tree. I love real trees. I only wish we could trek through a snowy forest to cut down our own. Now that would be fun. At least, until I got cold and started whining.
It’s pretty slim pickin’s five days before Christmas. I wanted a flocked tree and there were only two of those left. (And yes, I just learned that “flock” is the technical term for it. It makes me sound smart, right?)
After expressing my outrage over the cost when come on! who’s gonna buy a tree now at that price??? (other than us, that is), we paid what is cost and carried the tree home. And for the whole block and a half, I told J and The Husband to pretend like we were trudging through snow like this! And then I proceeded to show them exactly how’d I walk were I trudging through a snow-blanketed forest and not down Harbor Boulevard on a sunny Sunday afternoon in southern California.
Um. The tree doesn’t fit. I mentioned there were only two flocked trees left, right? Well, the one we came home with is nearly ten feet tall and fat. It didn’t fit in the normal place beside my desk.
We had to completely rearrange the furniture in our living room. And I still can’t get to my desk.
Look, twinkly lights and “snow.”
My favorite ornament.
(By the way, I realize the above photos don’t do justice in portraying the tree’s size. I’m workin’ on that.)