Christmas Tree, You Are My Apollo Creed!

Photo by wolfsavard

This weekend my husband and I will face our annual festival of humiliation – trying to put up our fake, pre-lit Christmas tree. It’s the pre-lit part that throws us off. As we pick up tree sections and put the poles in holes, there are these random plugs hanging down just waiting to mock us.

They are located in obvious areas, and everything seems logical until we begin plugging them in. With our heads shoved into a world of sharp, fake needles, we stumble and struggle with which plug goes where. Suddenly the tree becomes our own personal Rubik’s cube. Sure that this male plug matches that female plug, we feel delighted by our accomplishment until we realize none of the lights are on. We can’t seem to get our males and females together correctly; we are not.

After about an hour of confusion my daughter usually walks in, looks at us both with the disgust only a grown child can give you, and then gets everything plugged up in a matter of minutes. She’s like a mad scientist, arms flying, plugs connecting, providing us in minutes with total illumination.

My daughter is in college this year, and has sworn that if we can’t get the tree up by ourselves she’s not coming home. Since I’m holding her presents hostage, I think she’ll show up. And I think we’ll have a tree up, but I’m going to secretly buy one of those light “nets” and put it on the outside of the tree. Maybe she’ll never notice the plugs dangling uselessly.

Yes, I am an intuitive – one of those people who thinks great thoughts but is absolutely useless in the real world.

I used to get Happy Meal toys for my kids when they were toddlers and couldn’t put them together. And they came in two pieces. My daughter, even at the age of two, curled up her lip in disdain as I sat there like Forrest Gump staring at the two pieces as if they comprised the most complicated puzzle in the universe.

I am girding myself for the Christmas tree event by eating lots of carbs and donning sweatpants for the journey to humiliation. I will wake up Saturday morning, swallow a few raw eggs, and then run to the top of my stairs with arms lifted high, jumping up and down with victory. Until we get out the dreaded box, and I face my Apollo Creed. Wish me luck.

By the way, I’d love to covet your trees. Please submit photos of your Christmas tree, and I’ll post it!