I’m glad, no relieved. One more thing on the huge to-do list can be ticked off. But, because nothing ever is, it wasn’t easy to get to this point.

Christmas trees.

I love them, and I’m a bit of a snob really because I insist on having a real one or none at all. If you think that’s bad, you ask my mother. She doesn’t even allow fake lights near her tree. Or baubles & tinsel. Apparently all three are “vulgar” and should be replaced by felt & straw decorations, real candles and lametta.

Anyway. On Saturday, after a long, tiring day of playing mechanic’s little helper, I went looking for a tree. One that would be big enough to fill the empty corner of the living room. In addition to being a Christmas tree snob, unfortunately I’m also part Dutch.

My little Christmas tree hunt didn’t get off to a good start. The large garden centre I had planned to go to first closed 2 minutes before I reached there. I honestly didn’t consider that 2 weeks before Christmas, they’d close at 5:30pm on a Saturday.

Nevermind, I had my phone with me for directions. Nearest B&Q, Homebase, whatever. At least they should still be open! So upon finding a Homebase, (and getting lost twice on the way), I was welcomed by the promising sight of lots of little trees in pots at the entrance. I started looking around for one that would be big enough. Until I saw the price tag and nearly had a coronary. £39.99! For one that didn’t even reach all the way up to my tits. Obviously, I left empty handed (see above part-Dutch reference).

By Sunday afternoon, my luck turned. Of course I had already collected some decorations, bought a few new ones, decided on a colour scheme etc. So by the time we got the tree home, I couldn’t wait to start decorating. The theme was going to be simple, classy. Dark blue, gold & white/glass.

This enthusiasm was of course met with manly disinterest and eye rolling.

“I don’t get the point of Christmas trees. You take a perfectly nice tree, kill it, and put gay shit all over it. Don’t expect me to help!”

After I had finished, this attitude had changed ever so slightly.

“Why don’t you put on the purple ones as well?”

Fair enough. I like blue & purple together. Once the lights were on, it really started to look like something too.

Followed by: “Why don’t you put the red ones also?”

I refused.

And then the phone rang, mom calling in for her weekly chat.

And while I was on the phone, sat in front of the tree on the floor, trying to explain to my mother how to do video chat on Google plus (the horror), something odd happened.

The alpha male got up from the sofa, looked into the box of unused baubles and scratched his head for a bit.

Placing the first one took a bit of consideration. The next one and the one after went on much quicker.

By the time I looked up, the tree stood in its full multicoloured splendour; blue, purple, gold, red, pinkish red and the lights were on. There went my classy colour scheme, but oh well at least, it’s cheerful.

(In case you were wondering, no, after 30 minutes on the phone, I still couldn’t get mom to understand Hangouts in Google plus. So we gave up and used Skype instead).

Response upon remarking that OK, it does look nice with all the decorations on:

A shrug and: “Look, it’s a phallic symbol with a whole lot of testes on it. Told you it was gay.”

Well anyway, I figured the best possible finishing touch wouldn’t be tinsel because that would be waaay too much but instead some gold beaded garlands.

I thought it looked pretty nice too, but sadly it was not to be. He vetoed my suggestion immediately.

“Fuck, we’re not those, they look like anal beads. For elves!”

I give up!