I have been a complete Real Tree Tool, snubbing my nose at the fake plasticity of artificial trees for as long as I can remember. I love freezing my ass off to pick out a real tree, almost having it fall off the top of my car as I’m driving down the road because it isn’t secured properly. It’s tradition to lose half the needles shoving the thing inside my front door. I adore how long it takes me to screw the stand into the tree trunk and how the tree inevitably veers to one side. I love spilling water all over my hard wood floors to keep the thirsty beast alive for three weeks. The giddy excitement of wondering if I’m going to come home to the thing up in flames because I forgot to unplug the lights before we left the house. I adore the scent of pine every time I vacuum for the next six months because I’m too lazy to replace the vacuum bag. (I actually really do love that).
And then some time in December last year, I had a complete change of heart, Grinch-style (not to be confused with gangnum style, which can put an eye out). My heart grew three sizes that day. I wanted to go over to The Dark Side. I wanted a fake tree. I still can’t explain it. I decided, however, that if I was going to buy an imitation tree, it should be the most fake tree EVER. Voila!
This photo isn’t doing it justice, and it sorta looks like the tree is on fire, but really it is just PINK. I know it looks tacky with green wires but we haven’t converted white wired light strands. Also, it occurs to me that someone who bought a pink Christmas tree probably has a warped sense of what constitutes “tacky” anyway. We hung only unbreakable ornaments because Kitten Katniss has been nesting in the branches and fucking with the furry santa ornament (as well as the ribbons on the packages, batting ornaments around the floor and then vomiting up tinsel). Sweet kitty.
And to make the Christmas season even more ironic, I made for the first time this year: a blue velvet cake.