paragiraffe

Tonight my dad, my sister Audra, and I went Christmas tree shopping. We bought a lovely, tall (9 feet), fragrant fir. In Green Hills. Then we went to Starbucks where my dad checked the parking lot every five minutes to make sure the tree hadn’t been stolen. I said, “This is my second trip to Starbucks today.” Dad said, “Lightweight! This is my third trip today.”

Christmas tree shopping is really interesting. It’s very much like car shopping. You walk around. You look. You go to different places. You can’t buy the first one you see. Then, there is the haggling about the price. Christmas trees are expensive. Of course, you’re trying to pay as little as possible, and the salesman wants to get as much out of as possible. See, here’s what I don’t get. What are they going to do if they don’t sell that tree? Are they going to keep it and sell it again next year? I think not. And what leverage do they have, really? The tree doesn’t do anything special. You’re going to take it home, dress it up with lights and ornaments, and in a month or so it’s going to die. It doesn’t have air conditioning or a CD player or the ability to do anything other than smell nice and look pretty.

The living room has been rearranged, and the tree is up. Soon the whole house will be filled with its piney fragrance. And if that’s not the height of Christmasy, I don’t know what is.

---