Lest you walk away with an opposite opinion, let me mention for the record that the Insta-Princess and I are fierce warriors. “But, Skippy,” you chuckle, “actions are important here, not words. Anyone can vouch for their own warriorocity, but we require records of deeds and darings. Maybe even a shrunken head or two—we try not to be picky.”
You doubt, oh Thomas, but reel back in horror from these gruesome photographic chronicles:
See what she’s doing? The Insta-Princess uses her charm and attractiveness to lure the tree into a false sense of security. “I love you. You’re pretty and a thing of nature,” she reassures the tree. “But soon,” she whispers with wickedness, “lights and hooks and decorative balls and mini-Santas will hang from your helpless limbs!”
As my partner in the hunt lulls the tree with her words of false love, I sneak up on it and wrestle it to the ground! (In case you’re wondering, that’s what I’m doing in the photo above. Seriously. I’ve no idea why people insist something else is going on.) This particular chase of our wooden Beast Glatisant was fraught with peril; a few times, before I finally sawed through its base, I nearly lost my life. See its brethren trees in the background? Don’t think they didn’t try helping one of their own. They travel in packs, these trees, and if you’re not careful you’ll find one trying to poke you in the eye as you pass by it. (Sometimes, even, piping up in imitation of your wife’s voice saying, “I’m sorry, I forgot to hold the branch for you.”)
In the end, we succeeded with our quest and took our trophy home:
Like the decorations? I know, right, I obviously have an eye for awesome design even before I’ve had a few glasses of Glenfiddich.
Don’t like the decorations? My wife threw them on when I wasn’t looking. “I’m wicked, I’m wicked!” she shouted. “Says so right in this blog entry!”
Oh! By the way, I’ve got a new joke that my wife—in her wickedness—failed to appreciate. “I tried looking up the tree skirt,” I told her. “But all I saw was a buncha fir.”
I know, right, I obviously have an ear for awesome jokes.
Responses to “Hunters, Not Gatherers”
December 16th, 2007 at 12:19 pm
Admit it, you were hired by my wife, weren’t you? In exchange for some moolah (possibly even some Godfather-type agreement where she’ll have to rub someone out at a later date) you agreed to be her mercenary in the revelation that she and I are having a party.
That’s cool. I can absorb that. I even played charades once, and it was fun. Well, after a few-too-many beers it was fun… which is when I joined in the game, so I’m guessing it’s still fun even without the stumbling, the slurring and the inadvertant tango with the Christmas tree.
So, hell, alright! Party at our pad!
December 15th, 2007 at 9:29 pm
Skipfitz, thanks for the note about asscroft. I love the tree story and the fir joke, too. Didja hear we’re joining you for drunk New Year’s charades?
I’m adding you to the links I love.