Everyone has something about the holidays they like. Whether it’s the presents, the snow, the eggnog laced with rum, being around family, or the cheesy holiday movies. For me, it’s the tree. I will spend hours at Christmas tree lots. The sales people hate me as I wander through the aisles of trees, finding holes, denying this one is good enough, and put them to no good use for at least thirty minutes. Then I drive to the next lot, wash, rinse, repeat. Most times, my father would take me to the same lot two or three times. He would joke that the vendors had a snapped a photo to hang on the lot.
“Crazy Woman Banned.”
(No, they never did.)
I put gobs of light and ornaments on the tree. Some people go for tasteful, my motto is, “Let’s see how many decorations we can get on the tree this year without setting the place on fire or making it topple over.”
The biggest tree I’ve ever had is maybe eight foot. On a good day. This year, it’s a piddly seven foot and not even that fat, but I’m in a small apartment. That’s okay. It’s a tree. It’s a tree a I like and decorated to the tips of it’s little branches.
My parents – on the other hand – for the first time in their life have moved into a house with cathedral ceilings. They got an eleven foot tree. You heard me right. AN ELEVEN FOOT TREE! Heathens.
Even so, cool they got an eleven foot tree. Spouse, brother, and myself are going up the weekend before Christmas. (Let’s face it, Christmas falls on the WORST possible day this year, and all you companies making people work the day after, for shame!) I’d get to see the tree, ogle the tree, and drool over the tree. Except, my father can’t just enjoy his victory of outdoing me in the tree area. No, no. Not my dad. I’ve been getting tree updates.
Okay, okay, so flaunting the tree isn’t terrible. We all post pictures to facebook, twitter, etc and so on, wanting to share our trees, our funny moments, and every once in a while, embarrass the irritate the bejeesus out of family. There’s one a up here. My family isn’t the type not to rub it in someones face. Especially my dad.
Still don’t believe me? Still think that twinkle in his eye makes him a right good ol’ boy with a heart of gold? Well okay, you may be right, but that doesn’t mean he’s not a mischievous son of a bitch. See the following.
And the ever lovin’ flippin’ kicker. Check out his face in the last one. Yeah, that’s right, rub it in dad.
Ho Ho it up daddy! I promise you.
VENGEANCE SHALL ME MINE!!
I am already plotting my vengeance. In the mean time, I say to my father (and my co-conspirator of a mother):
PS: For the record. That’s not my tree.