An Age Old Question & Finding Perfection

Well, maybe not age old, but fairly well debated, nowadays.


Real vs Fake: what do you prefer?


Just about everyone has their preferences, of course, and most will let you know about 'em.


'Real ones tend to sag, droop, and look a bit lifeless after time, whereas falsies stay perky forever.'

'I want mine as nature intended / Fake ones just feel weird.'

'My man paid for it.'

'Real, fake, whatever.'

'It's not what's above, it's what's below that counts!'

Was that last one a bit much?


Interestingly enough, most women that I know have very strong opinions about sticking au natural- see, Christmas just wouldn't be the same, otherwise.


What?


I'm talking about Christmas trees, you pervs!


So anyways, My Love and I a few years back had The Big Christmas Tree Debate. I didn't really have strong opinions either way, but my folks always had a fake tree, and we did all right. Fake trees might cost a bit more, tree for tree, but I was kind of keen on the reusability factor. No muss, no fuss, just toss that bad boy down from the attic, set it up, and voila! - time to decorate everything else risking life and limb on the rooftops..., and risking life and 'limb' when you find out that her treasured childhood stuffed animal collection is NOT to be staged in an erotic fashion.


Anywhere.


And especially not on top of the Christmas Tree, mantle, dining table, or guest beds when family is expected. (In my defense, I didn't know they'd be there that early, honest!)


Back to the story and quite naturally, my opinions were duly pondered (for about this ][ long) , and rejected. See, My Lovely had always had a Real Live (sort of) tree for Christmas, growing up (her, not the newly hewn sacrifice to the Christmas Spirit). She had visions of us searching pristine and well ordered fields for The Perfect Tree. As I came to understand it, due to our geographical location, the concept of snowy fields was negotiable. Excess Christmas Crack pulsing through her veins was not. Bah.


Interestingly enough, after much excruciating searching of the area, we found that in our area of the great state of Texas, these idyllic fields of Christmas Trees are all located at the local Home Depot, outdoor area.


I was only slightly enthused by the fact that there appeared to be an overeager young kid to assist us with our purchase. I'll give the guy credit, he was crawling all over the place, searching amongst the stacked and bound offerings to find 'that perfect one'. Finally, she was satisfied and I was only slightly homi/sui-cidal from the temps (low), time (long), and nearby shoppers (annoying).


He offered to help strap the tree down for us.


It was at this time that I remembered a few smaller items that I was meaning to get (read: stuff she told me to fix around the house but I just remembered about). So I tossed her the keys, reminded/mumbled to her about her previous marching orders, and off I went. I returned to the car just as the kid was slapping his hands of the roughly 20 lbs of needles produced/min that our tree gave off and tightening the last knots of the cords that held the tree strapped to the car's roof.


She was all smiles. I, for about the first time that evening, was also sporting a grin. Immediately noticing the change in my countenance, she was probably suspecting a psychotic break and asked me what was wrong. "Oh, nothing, my love. Let's just get in the car and go home, m'kay?"


I let her tug on the door handle a couple of times before I pointed out that the cords, while excellently tied, very effectively secured all four doors shut. I suggested that we enter the car Dukes style, but that idea got shot down as well.


Not that big of a deal, we got the tree tied down correctly (I was just happy to find that I wouldn't have to drive w/one hand out the window, holding that sucker down while cruising down the highway). Off we went.


Back at the house, I expeditiously removed the tree from the car's roof (cut the cord with my knife and heaved ho, ho, ho-ed), dumping another 50 lbs or so on the yard, quite conveniently covering up at least two of the dead-grass brown spots. I managed to drag that sucker up the short walkway, up the steps, and into the house, losing ever more needles (I figured I'd turn the naked half of the tree to the corner of the room). It only took about two tries before we realized that our tree was too tall for our living room, by the roughly 6 in skid-looking marks on the ceiling that faintly exist to this day. Awesome.

Finally, the tree was trimmed, somewhat still nettled, propped up and decorated. Yay, 'cause after you get the tree up, yer done preppin' for Christmas, right?


Riiiiight.


I did have fun positioning those stuffed animals, though... I always do.