Why Anyone Would Hug A Tree I Cannot Imagine
The tree is up. Against all odds, I might add.
Our enormous fake pre-lit Christmas tree is now standing in its appointed place in the corner of the living room. It took about five days to a)find it, b) drag it down from the attic (seriously, it's a big tree), c) put it together and d) get all the lights to work.
Naturally the last part was the tricky part. The one that had four adults and one child scratching their heads for hours while the pointier tree branches scratched our fingers to ribbons. The one that sent a grown man up to his study, clutching his chest and pressing his fingers to his carotid artery.
DIH has come to the conclusion that Christmas trees hate us. Come on, be honest- can anyone look back on his childhood and say "Ah, those beautiful evenings when we put up the Christmas tree, when peace reigned in our homes and Dad most certainly did NOT scare the c--- out of his kids by exhibiting behavior and language no child should ever see from an adult at close range!"? Anyone? Anyone?
No, I didn't think so. DIH can still feel an asthma attack coming on at the sight of a strand of Christmas lights. To this day she has to fight the impulse to flee when the tree makes its way down the attic stairs.
It's no good saying "well, Christmas lights are so much better today! I mean you don't have to replace a whole strand if one bulb goes out anymore!" Sure, it may be true. In theory. But there are still these mysterious brown-outs and blinks no one can account for. And to every red-blooded American male, every blink is like a slap across the face with a chamois glove. His pulse quickens; he sets his teeth; his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. Show me the man who does not look on the Christmas tree light as his natural enemy. I want his secret. Or at least one of the pills he's popping.
Anyway, now that we have all the lights working- and not even our electrician friend can explain why-- we figure we'll have to keep the tree up until they burn out. just to make it worth the struggle. I may not even put any decorations on it- I'm afraid to touch the wrong branch at the wrong time and knock the lights out of commission. Which would necessitate running away from home pronto.
Sigh. Some things never change.
Our enormous fake pre-lit Christmas tree is now standing in its appointed place in the corner of the living room. It took about five days to a)find it, b) drag it down from the attic (seriously, it's a big tree), c) put it together and d) get all the lights to work.
Naturally the last part was the tricky part. The one that had four adults and one child scratching their heads for hours while the pointier tree branches scratched our fingers to ribbons. The one that sent a grown man up to his study, clutching his chest and pressing his fingers to his carotid artery.
DIH has come to the conclusion that Christmas trees hate us. Come on, be honest- can anyone look back on his childhood and say "Ah, those beautiful evenings when we put up the Christmas tree, when peace reigned in our homes and Dad most certainly did NOT scare the c--- out of his kids by exhibiting behavior and language no child should ever see from an adult at close range!"? Anyone? Anyone?
No, I didn't think so. DIH can still feel an asthma attack coming on at the sight of a strand of Christmas lights. To this day she has to fight the impulse to flee when the tree makes its way down the attic stairs.
It's no good saying "well, Christmas lights are so much better today! I mean you don't have to replace a whole strand if one bulb goes out anymore!" Sure, it may be true. In theory. But there are still these mysterious brown-outs and blinks no one can account for. And to every red-blooded American male, every blink is like a slap across the face with a chamois glove. His pulse quickens; he sets his teeth; his hand goes to the hilt of his sword. Show me the man who does not look on the Christmas tree light as his natural enemy. I want his secret. Or at least one of the pills he's popping.
Anyway, now that we have all the lights working- and not even our electrician friend can explain why-- we figure we'll have to keep the tree up until they burn out. just to make it worth the struggle. I may not even put any decorations on it- I'm afraid to touch the wrong branch at the wrong time and knock the lights out of commission. Which would necessitate running away from home pronto.
Sigh. Some things never change.
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