So last night was the tree lighting at the Stuffy household that of course necessitated getting a tree. If my wife had here way we’d buy and decorate the tree Thanksgiving night and it would remain until all the needles fell off. If I had my way, we’d get the tree the 23rd and it’d be on the curb the 26th. Somehow we settled on the end of the first week of December through the 2nd (I’m sure she threatened me somehow) as a compromise. We (meaning she) also decided we’d get a Douglas this year instead of our typical Noble. So we loaded up the boys and headed off to get a tree, but first this word from Walmart.
Because we needed a tree stand, lights and a few more ornaments, we went to Walmart first. When we arrive we can see this huge seasonal section, so that’s where we head. There’s everything you’d need for a sweet, gooey, assault on the senses bright shiny Christmas, well except the stuff I was looking for. There was gift-wrap, candy, Santa hats, etc. Luckily there’s a manager standing right there. So I ask him “excuse me, where are the decorations?” “Which decorations?” he asks. I stood thee blinking taking in all the Santa displays and what not. “Um… Christmas?” I finally say while kind of waving my hand at all the Christmas stuff. “Oh that’s in the Garden section.” This meant of course a trip clear across the store.
After getting our required stuff, we manage to get out of Walmart only spending a small fortune and head for the tree lot. I’m convinced that Tree sellers carry their own swamp with them. Really how do they do this? I’m sure that if a tree lot was set up on a parking lot, they’d still find someway to have the ground be this 6” thick pungent mucky shoe-sucking morass. I also somehow forget this every year until I get to the tree lot. I had stupidly worn my suede kick offs, which are great if you have to go through airport security frequently, but left me walking in this Astronaut moon-walking gait ala Anna Faris in Scary Movie 2. This was after having my shoe get sucked off my foot several times.
We have the perfect system for picking out a tree. It involves the whole family, which is good too. Here’s how it works. The boys and I separate and head off in search of the perfect tree while my wife tends to stay in a clearing. When one of us finds the perfect tree we say “how about this one?” My wife will look, make a few noncommittal noises, and off we head again. Rinse and repeat. Just as we’re getting tired and start thinking maybe a different lot, my wife will stop and say “this one”. We all ooh and ah while internally trying to figure out how this tree is any different that the other 19 we showed her.
We go home break out the eggnog and crank up the Xmas tunes and Eldest Son and I began setting up the tree. It’s a little easier going than in most years because of the new stand which resembles a giant dog dish. That is until the final moments of locking in the tree. I was just finishing up the last screw when I looked up and poked my self in the eye with a pine needle (yeah it hurts as much as it sounds like). Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold one tearing eye while adjusting the star while my wife tries to redefine “straight”? Squinting at it now, it is a lovely tree. Someone’s going to get rich figuring out a way to outsource this gig though.