Sunday, December 03, 2006


Today we set out to find a real Christmas tree. I almost wrote LIVE, but by definition, without dirt, they be dead. Our "forever tree with 1049 tips" will enjoy this year of forever in the attic, in its 3 pieces, each heavy enough to herniate the carrier - me - and with enough aluminum points to gouge the walls.

So we thought we'd get a real tree. And set out to Papa Noel's tent. Papa wasn't there, but his boyz were, and the trees were pretty good. Not White House good, but apparently they trim them into perfect shapes before they put the $149 and $179 price tags on. (!!!)

Naaaa. Don't think so. Would rather go cheaper and give the money to a seasonal charity.

So we headed to HEB. HEB is the local food, etc., supermarket. The B stands for Butts. It's the guy's name - Herbert E Butts. I am sure about the BUTTS but (ha) not the Herbert.

Herb's place had $49 trees, and we loaded one.

You don't get the red plastic wrapping, you don't get the end chopped off ("We had an accident last year so now we can't do it," said the girl-tree-spokesmodel who was freezing her shapley butt off (42 degrees) in her heels and mini.... what? Oh, no, I'm okay... just went away for a sec' ... the girl with the apron and store uniform...

I drove the tree home in the trunk - even left it open. There's no place to tie it anyway, in the age of all-molded-everything on a car.

Then fired up the chainsaw, lopped an inch or so off our tree, and delivered it to our new stand.

Northerners will expect this to be the part where the Brown Recluse spiders and scorpions run out. Sorry. The tree was butticized. It ain't like that in these here parts.

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