During this time of year my house contains a beautiful, tall, decorated Christmas tree. It has colorful lights, shiny ornaments, and like any good old American family in the 21st century, our tree is completely made of plastic. We didn’t always have a fake tree; back in the day I was more of a purist. Each year I liked to kill at least one tree for Christmas’ sake. Our family enjoyed a real tree that smelled like pine, slowly dried up while dying, and was a fire hazard inside our house.
Part of the holiday season is the process of going out and getting a real tree. Years ago, it just didn’t feel like Christmas unless my wife and I went to a Christmas tree lot and got into a fight. Nothing brings out the Christmas spirit like standing in a parking lot, freezing to death, staring at a hundred trees that all look identical and arguing with your wife about which tree to take home.
“This one has a hole in it.”
“Yes, I know, Baby, none of these trees are perfect. We’ll put the hole in the corner.”
“I like this tree instead.”
“Baby, that’s a nice tree, but it’s 9 feet tall and we have 8-foot ceilings.”
“This tree looks like it’s already drying out.”
“Yes, Baby, all the trees here are drying out, somebody sawed them off at the stump. They’re all dying.”
“Can’t we buy this 9-foot tree and then you just cut the last foot off the bottom so it will fit?”
“Sure, I can spend an hour sawing the stump, trimming the lower branches, and then trying to reattach the tree stand so all of your Christmas tree dreams come true.”
“Perfect! We’ll take this one.”
Once we got the “perfect” Christmas tree home, I spent two hours in the driveway actually making it perfect with a power-saw, while somehow miraculously not cutting any of my fingers off. My wife came outside and told me before the tree could come inside “her” house that I needed to wash it.
“What?”
“Yes, you need to wash the tree before it can come inside.”
“I’m supposed to wash a tree?”
“Yes, just hose it down and get all the bugs off of it. Leave it outside for a couple of days, and then bring it in when all the bugs are gone and it’s dry.”
“That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m not going to hose down the tree. There are no bugs in the tree. Plus I want to put the tree up and decorate it tonight. Not three days from now.”
“How do you know there’re no bugs in it?”
“I’ve been sawing on the thing for two hours, my hands are covered in tree sap, but I haven’t seen any bugs.”
“Well, if you’re sure. OK. Bring it in so we can decorate it.”
The whole family worked together in harmony inside the living room, listening to Christmas carols, and decorating the perfect tree. It was a magical time. Santa Claus was alive and well in the hearts of our children and there were no bugs on the Christmas tree. Well, I should clarify, we didn’t see any bugs that particular night.
Christmas Eve however, when our kids were all snug in their beds, with dreams of Saint Nick in their heads, a small nest of eight legged creatures hatched in our Christmas tree. While Santa snuck in our house and was busy filling our stockings with presents, baby arachnids were showing their own presence by spreading their own version of Christmas joy all around the living room. Yes, this particular year Santa brought spiders to our house.
The spiders completely covered the Christmas tree in webs. These spiders, the exact ones I swore to my wife, whom I love, did not exist, made me a liar as they dangled from webs on tree branches as if they were their own sort of horrifying Christmas ornament. To say the least, Mrs. Krider was not happy. She hates spiders, and that particular Christmas morning, she certainly wasn’t too fond of me either. Obviously I should have “washed” the tree. We haven’t had a real Christmas tree since. We are 100 percent all plastic now.
In fact, a lot about our Christmas is sort of plastic now. I don’t fight battles in parking lots with other holiday shoppers anymore. Instead, I just sit on my couch and do my shopping on Amazon. Not only is it convenient to have presents delivered right to my door, I don’t even have to think of stuff to buy my wife anymore. I just type in the Amazon search bar, “stocking stuffers for women,” and all of a sudden, really good ideas pop up on the screen. I click away and add them to my cart. Amazon makes me look like a real-life, loving husband. Thanks, Amazon!
Yesterday, my wife called me at work and asked me if I was buying her a jumbo pack of Chapstick for Christmas (which I totally was). I asked in amazement, “How would you know that?”
“Because Amazon emailed me to inform me about shipping, and a jumbo pack of Chapstick will arrive on our doorstep on Dec. 23.”
“Oh, that’s good news. I was afraid it wouldn’t arrive in time for Christmas! Um, can you not check your email for like, the next week or so?”
For Christmas, Rob wants a Porsche, and he hasn’t seen any Amazon shipping notifications to indicate that is going to happen. You can read more from Rob Krider or contact him at robkrider.com.
This article appears in Dec 21-28, 2017.
