Growing up, I never had a real Christmas tree. Every December, my parents would drag our plastic tree out of a box in our garage. My brother and I would then erect it in our foyer and meticulously place our frayed decorations on its flimsy branches. It wasn’t glorious, but there was a lot of heart.
This year, Bael and I wanted to get a real tree. No real reason. Just YOLO, and all that. So we drove to a local tree lot, picked out a medium sized tree, threw it into the back seat of my sedan, and headed to Target to get some decorations.
As awesome as it is to have a real tree in our apartment, we are now firmly of the opinion that plastic trees are more practical. Real trees need water. Real trees drop needles. Real trees are heavy as hell to carry up stairs.
The stand we bought at Target ended up being too small. We couldn’t fit the trunk into the hole and had to hack away at it with a Chinese cleaver. If we had an axe on hand, we would have used it instead. But in any case, the cleaver was just as effective.
It took us about 2 hours to decorate the tree. It’s standing proudly in a dark corner of the apartment, filled largely with blue and silver balls. It’s a little wobbly and lopsided. But damn it sure is pretty.
Happy holidays, everyone.