The Tarty Tree

I'm supposed to take down the Christmas tree today. I always go through a weird transition when taking the tree down. My husband thinks I'm insane. Ok, he knows I'm insane and yet he still married me, but that's his to deal with for eternity now isn't it?

The transition that I go through is that I always feel as if we've simply used the tree, and now that it's usefulness is over, we're kicking it to the curb. As I said to him this morning, what I really feel like is that we've gone out, solicited this beauty into our home, parked her in the corner after dressing her up like a tart in all her finery, had our way with her and now that she's no longer useful, we're stripping her finery off her and throwing her onto the street.

Literally.

Where she will lay naked for days until someone comes along and throws her into a grinder, chopping her into little bits and redistributing her so that she is useful once again.

I can't do it!

So now you will understand why, when you visit in August, you are not to ask about the large tree that remains in the corner of the living room.