You are about to
begin the search for the perfect Christmas tree.
Relax.
It’s going to be a
strenuous journey, both physically and mentally draining. Rid your mind of
everything else and focus. Breathe deeply of the crisp winter air. Concentration
is crucial to success. There will be distractions—a woman whose three boys
insist on playing tag through the aisles of fresh pine, a toddler with sticky
candy-cane lips and a runny nose, an elderly gentleman with a cane who just
might need a hand.
Forget about them.
Close your eyes if need be. This is your moment. Loosen your joints with a
series of windmill arm circuits and hip circles. You’ll need to be limber for
the task ahead.
Shout it out. “I
will get the PERFECT tree!” Pay no
attention to the wary glances of the crowd. They don’t understand what it takes
to be a champion.
The lot will not
open until 8am, but you will be early. Two hours early. You’ll park your car
right in front. You’ll back into the spot, knowing this will make it easier for
the eventual tree tie-down process. There will be no little elves to help with
your bungee cords and scratchy twine. A secure load is all riding on you this
year.
There will be a
small crowd waiting by the mesh fence, drooling as season-hire teenaged boys
cut the plastic bindings from the Silvertips and allow the trees to shake
themselves out, wave their majestic boughs—so ideal for the gold ornament theme
you’ve chosen for this year. You’ll make sure that you are first in line. Don’t
let the relentless coughing of the four year-old in pj’s rattle you. She might
try to push in front of you, but don’t let her.
Shake out your
legs, your arms. Prepare yourself in your runner’s stance, the one you’ve been
practicing since last year when you lost out in the sprint to the PERFECT TREE by
mere seconds. Every instant counts. Ignore the looks you’ll receive from the
other patrons. Shout out, “Merry Christmas!” This should help disrupt their
troubled frowns.
Of course, the
ideal position for sprinting may elude you in the winter cold, but you’ll have
to make due. It’s not that you expect anything particular from this Christmas,
just that the PERFECT TREE will crown your extensive living room display. The PERFECT
TREE: a tree with no dark, dirty holes that must go in a corner, no sawed-off
branches, no veering, leering arms reaching toward the floor or ceiling. The
tree must be regulation in size, triangular in shape, and the smell…it must
exude the sweet, heavenly smell of sugar pine.
In the back of the
lot, you will spot your tree. It is ideal, magical. You must make it yours.
Surrounding it, you see a sea of obstacles, a thick barricade of other trees,
other species—Trees That Aren’t PERFECT—frowning at you from all angles,
attempting to confuse you. You’ll refuse to submit to their pressure. You will
get the PERFECT tree.
But first, you
must fight your way past all obstacles, past:
Trees That Are
Oozing With Sap
Trees That Lie
About The Strength Of Their Branches
Trees Likely To
Catch Fire At The Drop Of A Tree Light
Trees Just Waiting
Until You Get Them Home To Show Their Holes
Trees That Smell
Like Cow Dung
Trees That Tilt
When You Put Them In The Stand, No Matter What
And the gates
open! You zigzag your way past these shameless creatures, clawing out at you with
open boughs, and make your final sprint down the aisle to your PERFECT tree.
You grab hold with one hand, whipping out your own personal yellow SOLD tag
with the other and shout to the world, “It’s MINE!”
You have scared
away children with your victory cackle, but never mind that. Your mother would
be proud.
