Our Christmas Tree

    Women often wonder why men think…well, whatever it is they think.  It took me years of puzzling to finally realize that the male species can be summed up in these words: they really are that simple.  A comedian once said, “Women, if you can’t figure out men, you’re thinking too hard.”  Truer words were never spoken.

    For our first Christmas, my husband and I went together to pick out a tree.  Naturally, this was my idea, a romantic notion that we could begin building holiday memories together that would be treasured for years to come.  My husband thought we were just picking out a tree.

    As I stand there, leaning against the fence and shifting my feet to prevent discomfort, my gallant husband hauls tree after tree from a pile twice his height and several car lengths long.  He carries them over to me and stands them up.  Ah, he finally remembers to shake them a little and tap the trunk on the ground, letting the branches settle down to give me a better idea of what each one looks like.  No, not that one.  No, not the next one, or the next three, or the next twenty.

    My feet are getting sore, just standing there.  Oh, my sweetie has cut his hand again, we’ll have to get him some band-aids when we finish.  No, it looks like that’ll need stitches, a band-aid won’t do.  Hmm, he’d probably better get a tetanus shot, too, since he cut his leg on the rusted fence. 

    No, that tree’s not right either, it has to be perfect.  And I’m certain I’ve seen the next one he brings me, I’d remember those sharp little needles anywhere.  I tried touching it, ouch, thank goodness my hubby gave me his gloves.

    Finally, I see it, I’m in love!  The very last tree, way at the bottom of the pile, there it is!  Oh, it’s so green, smells so good, and it’s just the right shape and size.  Well, I’ll have to wipe the blood off, the only red that belongs on a Christmas tree are ornaments placed just perfectly.

    It’ll be so much fun decorating it with my darling husband, I can sit on the couch and direct the placement of everything, it’ll be just perfect.  And to think, I just bought a new 500-pack of tinsel, each one of which has its own special home on this tree!  How thrilling for my sweetheart and me to celebrate our first Christmas together!

    How nice that men are such simple creatures; I'd hate for him to ruin our perfect little lives by having an opinion.  Pish-posh, as I tell him, you have mine, isn't that enough?  He sighs (in gratitude, of course) and spends the next twenty minutes carefully strapping the tree to the roof of our car.  Ooh, it's chilly, I'll need his jacket to stay warm while I point out how the rope is bending the perfect little branches.  He doesn't need the jacket with all that sweat anyway.  Oh no, he's dripping on the needles, that won't do, the salt in his sweat will dry them out.

    As we drive home, I smile at him and remind him to slow down.  Who cares if people are honking at us, our tree can't handle high speeds since my dearest loosened the ropes to prevent breakage.  Whoops, the tree's fallen off again, I hope no one hits it!

    Brr, it's cold, I'll just crank up the heat while he ties the tree back on.  Oh, bummer, he needs the windows open to tie the rope.  I told him we'd need that roof rack when we bought the car, but he was so upset about already paying three thousand more than we'd agreed.  Hmph, I'll just cross my arms and not talk to him. 

    When we get home, he runs to get a pair of gloves and a jacket, while I go inside and make hot cocoa for myself.  Whew, I'm exhausted, picking out a tree is more work than I remembered.  I'm still not talking to him, that roof rack deal still has me a little steamed.  And what now, he's getting a drink?  Doesn't he know the tree has to come inside right away and be put in water?

    I break my silence to remind him of this.  He looks surprised at my tone, didn't he even realize I was upset?!  What's wrong, he asks?  Nothing, I'm fine!  I stomp my little heel in emphasis.  He shrugs and goes out for the tree.

    How dare he ruin a perfect holiday memory with his attitude?!  He'll just have to get me that roof rack, I won't be happy any other way.  How can he not know what I'm upset about?

    A few hours later, after the tree is up and I send him to the shower, I join him in the bathroom and tell him we need to talk.  He has no idea what I'm talking about when I ask what would have made the drive home easier.  After explaining it to him, he's silent for a minute, probably wondering how he didn't think of such an obvious solution as buying a roof rack.

    No worries, I tell him, that's what he has me for.  I smile, happy again knowing that he appreciates my wisdom.  Life is right again...my man is simple and I  graciously guide him through the best choices.  He deserves a nice hot drink now, so I go make him cocoa.  As I pass by the living room, I see the tree is a little off-center.  We'll just have to fix that...