I know, I know. You need a full-sized Christmas tree like I need a hole in the head, but this needed to happen. Home Depot was selling five foot spruces for $12.98 and how was I going to say no to that?
I know, I know. It’s weird to put a tree in one’s kitchen but I kept it dignified, didn’t I? No lights or ornaments or nothing. Just some black and white buffalo check cotton torn into pieces.
You hear that? Torn.
All burly and stuff. It’s like a lumberjack tree. Kitchen, you are like mighty, masculine forest, harboring a super manly, totally-non-foofy, lumberjack tree. So what if I made bows? You are virile. You can handle bows, you big sweaty hunk of utility, you!
I know, I know, I know, Kitchen, I said I would quit putting sparkly things in you after I emasculated you by wallpapering the fridge…and stuffing your pantry with Easter baskets…and collecting granny china…but this tree….THIS TREE.
So what if it drops needles like a heroin addict? So what if it hurts to touch? I’m not going to make out with it. It just needs to sit there and be cute. Kitchen, just listen to that tree, it’s saying “Hay, look at me, I smell good. I’m pretty. Buy me things!”
And she only cost $12.98. How was I to say no to a pretty little thing like that?
Kitchen, are you scared yet?
Let me in your fridge!!