Bah Humbug

I just hadn't been feeling the Christmas spirit this year, and I'm not sure why. Usually around this time I can't wait to create some boozy holiday cookies (my rum balls are infamous) and decorate Charlie, my acupuncture mascot, with a well-placed sprig of mistletoe. This year? Maybe it's the 60 degree weather in December, but meh. Growing up, it was the running joke that my father would unfailing pick the saddest, cheapest, most pathetic excuse for a tree. Every year it was something different; one year we ended up with a tree that was, technically, a bush. It was short, squat, and round. Most years, our tree looked as if it desperately needed Rogaine; Charlie Brown's tree had nothing on ours. And since the trees he picked were always at death's door, my poor mom would spend the majority of her days leading up to Christmas madly vacuuming up piles of pine needles.

Bearing witness to all this mess and inconvenience led to my decision that, for adults, Christmas trees are an unnecessary evil. I don't have children, therefore, there is no reason to spend money on what is essentially a giant stabby plant with an incredibly short life span. I am 40 years old, and have never had a Christmas tree. Until now.

This Saturday I was on my way to a restaurant right around the corner from my house when I was approached by a wildly enthusiastic man who was selling the last of his Christmas tree stock. I stood firm: no tree.  He lowered the cost from $60 to $20. I took a look at these trees that were left and had to admit that $20 was a great deal. They were so full and lush! Even as he spoke of the high school kids that would be benefiting from the money raised, I still refused to entertain the notion. Until he spoke a few magical words...

"I'll even bring it right to your front door for you!"

What can I say? That offer was far too tempting to refuse. While he left with the tree, I headed off to Target to buy a stand and lights. For the first time in my life, I was going to decorate my home for the holidays.

When I arrived home with my goods, my boyfriend (who is all too aware of my impatience when it comes to this sort of thing) was already prepared for tree trimming. Excited, I held up the tree while he put the stand together. It was too small. And broken. Target: 1, Marisa: 0. I briefly thought about returning it, realized that I'm far too lazy for all that work, and made the executive decision to just lean the tree back against the wall. Problem solved. Sort of.

The boyfriend: "You do know that trees need water to live, right?"

I hadn't really thought about that. Dammit. But soon, another idea came to mind.

Which is why I now have a drunken, tilted Christmas tree propped precariously against a wall, perched inside a blender filled with water. Merry Christmas!