The latest casualty in my life has been the Real Christmas Tree. Who doesn't love the Real Christmas Tree? They are so wonderful. There is such tradition and excellence in caravanning to
I do actually love the Real Christmas Tree. For whatever reason. And unfortunately, it is now a thing of the past for this academic. Frankly, ain't nobody got time for that.
Even if you go to your local big box supplier instead of hand cutting a wilderness beauty, you still have to haul the thing to the car, hoist it onto the roof, scratch yourself, argue with your husband about the aerodynamics of tree placement (tree stump upwind or downwind?), navigate the beast into your house, unfurl it, and get sap all over your hands while you secure it in the plastic tree stand you ordered off of HSN for 5 payments of $6.99 + a one time shipping and handling fee that cost more than the down payment on your house. And once the whole show is over, there's the bagging it up, vacuuming the whole house including the insides of the cats' mouths, and once again arguing with said husband about which night of the week the city is allegedly picking up discarded Real Christmas Trees.
I had the energy for all of that until this job happened, and then I had none of the energy for any of that.
Thus, I give you the Professor's Christmas Tree, procured from the great establishment of Costco, appropriate for all time-saving life occasions and for those who desire martial harmony in combination with holiday feelings of peace, sanity, and togetherness. Now all I have to do is get a pine-scented candle, and we'll be all set.
*Go ahead and call me obscene. I don't care. Until I have children, I will be in bed from 11-7.