Last night we put up our Christmas tree. As you can see, we had supervision (click on the pictures to embiggen).
Sherman and Rupert had to investigate the tree before it was out of the box. For quality control, of course.
Sherman made it to the top before we even finished assembling the tree.
Nutmeg checks to make sure the branches are all in order. She’s a useful cat.
And Ingrid, of course, is unimpressed.
It’s a fake tree, of course. Years ago, when we lived in Dixon, we would go to the Silveyville Christmas Tree Farm every year, hunt down an unsuspecting tree, cut it down, net it, and bring it back to our house, like mighty hunters. The last year we went to the tree farm, though, we just kind of sat in the parking lot and looked at a tree that was already cut down and netted and leaning against the fence. We asked the elf about it and were told that it had been cut down, purchased, and taken home, only to cause sneezing and hives to the family. So it was brought back.
“We’ll take it,” we said. For some reason, we just didn’t feel the urge or even the desire to cut down our own tree that year. The next year, we just decided to go with an artificial tree and be done with it. So we went to Target and bought the nicest one we could find. Nowadays, we just take the tree down from the attic and assemble it (with supervision, of course).
What about you? Fake or real?
‘Tis the season for Holidailies