No Scrooges Allowed

It's no secret around here that I love Christmas an abnormal amount. I once founded a Christmas Club for ladies who love Christmas, but no one else wanted to meet in the "off season" of January through October. I've been known to unabashedly set up the Christmas village as early as October 1st, and I bake Christmas cookies well into February. And, yes, I've been lobbying for an 18-foot artificial Christmas tree this year.

So what if an 18-foot artificial tree is impractical, cumbersome, and a decorating nightmare? None of these arguments take into account the hours, days, weeks, and even years of sheer Christmas bliss that such a tree surely would bring. I'd curl up in front of the massive tree and doze off on a cozy Sunday afternoon. I'd watch the thousands of white lights twinkle as twilight set in on a chilly December evening. I'd stack festively wrapped packages with enormous bows under the lowest branches. In the spirit of frugality, I'd even forego any Christmas presents for myself. ("Nothing's stopping you from doing any of these things with a 10-foot tree," the Wrangler has noted wryly.) I'm not being profligate; I'd use the tree for years to come. It would be, as they say, an investment piece.

I usually can get the Wrangler on board with some of my more whimsical ideas. Once in a while, though, I can tell that he isn't going to budge. That's when a modern cowgirl has to take matters into her own hands. I figure there's about a 50/50 chance that, should the 18 feet of Christmas glory just happen to show up on our doorstep (a Christmas miracle!), the Wrangler--much like Ebenezer or, say, the Grinch--will see the errors of his ways. Far from grumbling over the logistics of assembling and decorating an 18-foot tree, he'll take a vacation day to string the lights. ("I'm sooo glad you went ahead and got this magical, majestic tree of cheer, tra la," he'll murmur appreciatively.)

But just in case...I suppose I better read that return policy.