Hello-hello, all. The Consort here striding confidently mikeside to amuse (and confuse) you while The (lovely and oh-so-talented) Princess keeps a volunteer engagement.
Today we delve into a world drenched in testosterone. A world of danger. A world filled with desperation and bad decisions. A world in which your trusted reporter goes searching for a Christmas Tree. Alert your next of kin.
Ever since I was just a young Consort the annual rite of cutting down a Christmas tree has been a part of my life. Something about tromping through rows of trees to find just the right one created part of the magic of the season. I conveniently forget from year to year what a challenge that process can be, especially now that I am no longer a young Consort. Since I apparently do not retain any lessons from my past I will proceed with the search this year. Time is running short and The Princess Wants. Her. Tree.
One thing I have learned is this: To find a Christmas tree you must go where there are Christmas trees. Got it. In my experience the so-called “Christmas Tree Farm” is not the bucolic setting pictured above. It is a scene of angry males brandishing saws, worried mothers and stampeding children. But I will not be intimidated for I am on a mission. No measly 8-foot tree for me. No, I am charged with finding a tree that will fill a space with a 20-foot ceiling. I’m looking for a TREE. And to cut down that TREE I will use the correct tool. I brought a chainsaw.
I brought a chainsaw powered by a motorcycle engine. When I pull this over-caffeinated brute out of the back of the Prepmobile people recognize me for what I am: One Desperate Man. I’m moments away from firing this up when the owner of the tree farm (and three burly workers) convince me that I might want to take my search down the road. They were insistent and, to the applause of all the families cowering behind the trees, I left.
The scene was repeated at three more tree farms. By now daylight was fading as fast as my hopes of finding a TREE. It was time for a reality check and that was going to involve a break with tradition. I’m willing to exchange real life for “life-like”.
No needles dropping all over the floor. No water spilling everywhere. No house fires caused by a dried-out tree and bad wiring. I guess this is progress. But for all its beauty, as young preps we would never have imagined an artificial tree would make its way into The Prepatorium. But what am I going to do with a chainsaw with enough brute force to power a small plane?
Thank you for your time and attention. The Princess will return very soon with her own bit of holiday cheer. Don’t forget to tip your waitperson tonight because they’re working hard for you. Good night, all!