When nobody thinks it's a good idea to get a Christmas tree, you may have to get the damn thing yourself. Which I did. I picked it out, flirted with the cute tree guy while he tied it ineptly to my tiny car with ten thousand feet of string, and then drove veeeery slowly home. I hauled it off the car, into the elevator, down the hall and through the apartment. I got Snorri out of it, put it in the stand, took off the netting, got Snorri out of it, wrapped it in lights, covered it in ornaments and got Snorri out of it. I may have broken a sweat but was well pleased with my efforts. Then n.o.c. came home and said, "Wow! That's wonderful! I'm so glad we got a tree!"
We? I don't know what you're smoking, but I seem to be the one covered in sap. And you're damn right it's wonderful, fool. I don't truck with less. Merry Christmas.
Cosmo from P-town:
From Edgecomb Potters:
From Vermont (and a tribute to n.o.c.'s perfect cribbage score):
And one Pete painted while he was in Iraq, dreaming of snow:
And the Snorracle, worn slap out from attacking the tree: