...until the year I spent two weeks trapped in the house with a Scotch pine — or was it a Douglas fir? — after having had foot surgery.
I sneezed and hacked, and by the time I returned to work, I had fought off countless impulses to torch the freaking tree.
I fantasized about its demise, eagerly counting needles as they dropped to the floor.
Two more weeks 'til Christmas, and surely by then it will be dead. Die, you damn tree, just die.
(For an alternative viewpoint on this topic, check out what my fellow Musing Mama has to say...)
So for the past four years, we've had a fake tree. Yeah, I miss the real ones. But it's so nice to not have to consume Benedryl by the handful, you know?
Anyway, tonight Hubs put it up in the living room -- making his usual nostalgic noises regarding real trees -- while the kids ran around with enough hook-adorned ornaments to put out a dozen eyes.
Here it is. Enjoy. Now excuse me while I rejoice in its non-smelliness and my allergen-free Christmas.
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