Two Turtle Doves And a Cockroach Orgy in a Christmas Tree

I am just back from an adventure to the garage where I went a searching for a box containing our sad and pathetic plastic Christmas Tree that we have had since Harry was a baby. Prior to that we never had one.  Not because we are Jehovah Witness or anything,  we could just never be assed.  That was what our parents were for,  providing a Christmas Tree,  a good lunch and plenty of booze to wash it all down with.

And then we became parents and thought we had better do the right thing and get a Christmas Tree so we could take photos of the baby in front of it so we could show him later in his life, that way he would develop a strong sense of family and tradition and we would be good parents.

But good parents do not go to the bargain shop and fork over 12 big ones for a box containing a piece of shit plastic tree.  They get into the car as a family and go and select a tree. A fresh tree. We selected the piece of shit plastic tree which has seen us good for 7 years. Mr Woog dismantles it on Boxing Day (he hates clutter) and shoves it back into the box and back into the garage.

A few days ago I suggested to Mr Woog that THIS year we should have a REAL tree. A big bushy smelly Christmas Tree that could stand pride of place in our living room. Mr Woog pointed out that real Christmas Trees make a tremendous mess and that Jason our neighbour had a real Christmas Tree last year and it was still, nearly 12 months later, rotting in the back ally.  I did not believe him so I went and checked.

dead tree.

So I am back from picking my way through the garage trying to find the box.  I found it next to the car roof boot we bought at great expense a few years ago which we have never ever used.  They were both part of a collection housed on a plank of plywood sitting on a few beams in the roof. Once the box was located,  it took a few strong tugs to release it from its place of rest.  Then it fell on me along with a dusty old baby car seat.  The box containing the festy craphouse plastic Christmas Tree burst open and no fewer that 2 dozen cockroaches flung themselves at me.

I am actually going to stop there as it was very traumatic.

But I can tell you we ARE going to get a real tree this year and the cockroach orgy tree is going in the sulo bin. Baby Jesus would not appreciate such a filthy representation of Christmas,  and neither do I.