We went out to get our Christmas tree on Saturday. For the past several years we've gone to this farm about 20 minutes away and cut it ourselves. And it seems to always go the same way: I see one that looks "good enough" and Gwen isn't so sure.
Before I continue, let me say that I love my wife!
So we keep looking, getting further from the road. About half way through the field, I start to say, "What about this one, it's fine" to every third tree we come to. And Gwen says, "No, it's too scraggly on top" or "It has a lot of holes" to which I reply, "But that's where the ornaments hang."
Finally, as we get near the end of the field, I say, "Look, I'll sit here, and you go find the tree you want. Then you come back and get me." And she says I'm a Bah-humbug and need to have a better attitude.
In the end, the tree we take home is from the far end of the field, and as I haul it past that first tree I think, "This first one wasn't so bad." But it's too late.
So this morning, I thought of a new plan for next year: We're starting at the far end, not even looking at the ones near the road at first. Then, when we go through our annual ritual, at least I won't have to drag the tree for half a mile.
Now I just have to remember to do that next year! Or somehow convince Gwen that it's OK to pick one from the already-cut selection.
Merry Christmas everyone!
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