I don't know why this should be true, yet it is, undeniably, embarrassingly and horrifically even, the truth.
I have decorated my Christmas tree. Standing at 6'5", it is a lean mean green....thingie. It was not, in all fairness, the prettiest tree there but it called to me. Most people would take such a sad little tree home and give it much care and attention and it would thrive, flowering into a beautiful specimen of holiday festiveness.
Alas, this tree was not snatched up by one of those Martha Stewart home maker type of folk. I've spent most of my life involved in some medium of art or another. I have a degree in art, a portfolio of art, and a website of art. I understand colour theory, symmetry, balance and the importance of placement. I have references. Yet with all of this experience and training at my disposal, it remains the fact that at twenty-seven years of age I am still unable to decorate a Christmas tree and should, in all honesty, only be involved with adult supervision.
I couldn't tell you exactly where the problem with my tree lies. My mother could. My father could. My younger brother probably could. In fact a bus full of blind senior citizens, with the aid of their specially trained dogs, would probably have a better chance of understanding what is wrong with my tree. I only know this. My tree is the sort of tree that would go out to bars and other big fir trees would try to pick it up. When she politely refused, they'd call her a tease. She's the sort of tree who goes out wearing hooker red lipstick that makes all the other trees whisper behind her branches. Needless to say, my tree looks better in the dark....
But she's my tree so hopefully she'll forgive me for the way she's dressed.
I have decorated my Christmas tree. Standing at 6'5", it is a lean mean green....thingie. It was not, in all fairness, the prettiest tree there but it called to me. Most people would take such a sad little tree home and give it much care and attention and it would thrive, flowering into a beautiful specimen of holiday festiveness.
Alas, this tree was not snatched up by one of those Martha Stewart home maker type of folk. I've spent most of my life involved in some medium of art or another. I have a degree in art, a portfolio of art, and a website of art. I understand colour theory, symmetry, balance and the importance of placement. I have references. Yet with all of this experience and training at my disposal, it remains the fact that at twenty-seven years of age I am still unable to decorate a Christmas tree and should, in all honesty, only be involved with adult supervision.
I couldn't tell you exactly where the problem with my tree lies. My mother could. My father could. My younger brother probably could. In fact a bus full of blind senior citizens, with the aid of their specially trained dogs, would probably have a better chance of understanding what is wrong with my tree. I only know this. My tree is the sort of tree that would go out to bars and other big fir trees would try to pick it up. When she politely refused, they'd call her a tease. She's the sort of tree who goes out wearing hooker red lipstick that makes all the other trees whisper behind her branches. Needless to say, my tree looks better in the dark....
But she's my tree so hopefully she'll forgive me for the way she's dressed.
