A Merry Mooish Christmas Tree

Hello and Happy New Year to one and all.

Looking back on this past year, we have celebrated Eid, Hannukah and Christmas. It was a glorious mishmash of food, menorahs and baubles.

Bob was so giddy for months because, being Jewish, this was the first year he was allowed to have a Christmas Tree. In fact, we raided the shops a few weeks prior to the holidays and bought festive slippers, footsie pyjamas, stockings, crackers, fairy lights and heaps of mulled wine. It was wonderful.

I've had Christmas trees in my family home before but only from the age of 17 or so and never real ones. But this year, we drove to a tree nursery and sought out our wonderful, perfect little tree. It was truly one of the happiest days of my adult life. There's nothing like sharing the holidays with someone you love, especially when it's full of firsts. Bob was so happy and excited I must confess, it made me melt a little.

After safely housing our tree in a snug little corner of the lounge, we continued on in a twee festive fashion until everyone around us just wanted to throw up. 
The holiday came and went and it truly was wonderful. Afterwards, Bob's work schedule was absolutely hectic and I was dying of flu so we kind of neglected to handle the tree...... for WEEKS. Until this week to be exact :/

The poor lovely thing was slowly collapsing in the corner like a botched souffle, begging to be put out of its misery. Wheezing and gasping for breath, adorned in baubles still.

And I am a terrible woman.. a terrible terrible woman. I walked past the Ghost of Christmas every day and felt nothing.. and all along it's inner monologue was screaming this:

It was like we were playing chicken, Bob and I, neither of us wanting to be the one that packed up the last remnants of the holidays like some Bad Santa. We held out for as long as possible, but once our little tree started leaning over to the left a bit, edging towards the door, desperately trying to torpedo itself off the tree-stand, fairy lights and all, we caved.

And by God, did our little tree make us pay for it.

Every time we went near it, it vomited up wave upon wave of pine needles. They were EVERYWHERE. It was like some unholy flora based exorcism. All over the lounge, all over my shoes, in the hallway, in the spare room, in Bob's trousers. I've never seen so much plant-based debris. If that wasn't bad enough, it just kept wedging it's sizeable bum in all the doorways, apocalyptically expunging yet another round of needles all over the floor and generally causing problems during the entire process.

The whole flat was just littered with branches and innards. I wish I had taken a picture to show you. But to give you some sort of idea, it was something like this:

And me, crouching down on my knees in my pencil skirt and work blouse sweeping it all up was like this:

So I would like this opportunity to say, Christmas Tree.... Message received. I have learned my lesson. We shall be finding traces of you until Easter. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry we held on to you so long you developed Dendro-Alopecia and turned yellow. I'm sorry I ignored your consistent cries for help. And I'm sorry I got mad when you essentially shat all over my home.

Truly, I am. I promise your successor will have a much better time of it. I wish you well little tree.. in all your future endeavours.

Who knows, maybe we'll meet again one day when you're tissue paper or the pages of a wonderful new book I have yet to discover.

Until then little one.

My Life As An Imposter

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