There was no Christmas tree in the Epic household this year. In fact, there were no Christmas decorations of any kind. It's NOT that I'm a complete Scrooge, and I really do generally love the season. But after the trauma of last year, I wanted this year to be as stress free as possible...
Apparently, every other person in the world buys a Christmas tree from the tree farm during Thanksgiving. I thought I was early last year when I showed up two weeks before Christmas. Wrong. I was greeted with the sight of tree-farm-rejects. I’m not saying that some of them wouldn’t grow into fine trees, but, for the most part, they could have benefited from the tree equivalent of braces.
After some disheartened wandering amongst the Island of Misfit Trees, I approached the tree farmer. He had some cut trees that, he earnestly assured me, had been kept watered and would not drop all of the needles into my carpet. I picked one and headed home.
Upon arrival, Mr. Epic helped me attempt to put the tree in the new, high-end tree stand. I won’t go into all of the gory details, but, let’s just say that Mr. Tree Farmer neglected to point out that this fine specimen had a warped trunk. And those well-watered needles showered down in a continuous fall. Mr. Epic’s frustration mounted as the trunk refused to fit into the stand, even after repeated modifications with a saw. I, dripping in sweat and covered with tree needle jabs, eventually flew into a towering rage, grabbed the tree, dragged it out the front door, and threw it into the driveway.
After sitting on the couch for a bit, I decided to give it one more try with the old, metal tree stand. Mr. Epic made the stand work, the tree was forced into submission, and the decorating commenced. Later that evening, as the lights twinkled, I turned to Mr. Epic and said, “I may be having PMS.”
Mr. Epic responded, “What was YOUR first clue? Mine was when you threw the tree out the front door.”