if a tree is yarn bombed in the forest

Soooo, whatchadid this turkeyday? Me? Oh nothing much just me and Brilliant Chica YARN BOMBED MY CHRISTMAS TREE.

HELLZ YEAH Y'ALL!

And it went a little somethin' like this:

Boys in the kitchen, cooking. As they do. Girls in the living room, plotting and drinking. As we do. All is right with the world. Chica!!! Ruggy says he doesn't even mind if the Christmas tree is up for Thanksgiving! He even put a holiday station on for me while we were cleaning for y'all!!!

Really?  Brilliant Chica gulped. Wow. He IS guilty about that bathroom.

Laughter ensued, as it is wont to do upon mention of le bain. We lamented, as we have done for 2 thanksgivings now, the lack of a gold metal tree. We googled, as we have done for 2 thanksgivings now, for a speedy cheap option. I like the squiggly one, Chica declared. No can do, too seussical for me, I replied with a sense of ‪déjà vu‬. We get into a lively discussion, as we have done for 2 thanksgivings now, about the possible connection of Dr Seuss's palm trees and my hate/love relationship with the (clearly mental) state of California.

This wee tree is interesting.... we click the image, and rear back at the price tag. Oh, Urban Outfitters. You so crazy. Fifty dollas for a yarn wrapped twig. Defeated, we pulled ourselves out of the treematrix, resigned to the white branchy duct taped job that has held court for 3 years. Plus, it was time for Ruggy & Mad Chef's homemade pizza. Oh I'm sorry, let me correct that, IT WAS TIME FOR THE FOOD OF THE GODS. Shrimp! Caramelized onions! Capers! BBQ sauce! Pears! Cheese! Italian sausage! NOT NECESSARILY SEPARATE!

The melding of ingredients caused another fusion: what if we wrap branchy tree in some sort of metal....Chica breathed in ponderous tones. I slapped the couch. YES. HELL YES. YOU GOT YOUR CHOCOLATE IN MY PEANUT BUTTER. THAT IS BRILLIANT WE ARE DOING THAT.

(I didn't say the chocolate part but that was the intention.)

The next day, boys continued to do their kitchen thing, and girls marched off, in the rain, to nine different stores in four hours. The metal was elusive, to say the least.  Chica lost her mind in Papyrus. Why don't we wrap it in ribbon that would totally work you don't even KNOW-- I raised my eyebrows, visions of a bandaged tree limping in my head, and escorted her to a cappuccino.

Our prize was found, of course, at the last store we went to, aaallll the way up on 100th street at Michaels: a gold toned ombre lace yarn. The look of metal with the wrappiness of yarn?! We had hit the jackpot! Oooh while we're here, lemme just grab some pine cones for the windowboxes, it'll be ever so festive. As we turned the corner from the no-mans-land of Frames into Holiday Decor, a stench of 90 proof cinnamon smacked us in the face, like the malevolent fog in the Hunger Games. Oh god, put them down! The smell is coming from the pinecones! THE SMELL IS COMING FROM THE PINECONES!!! DON'T TOUCH YOUR EYES!!!

We dropped sacks of burning cinnamon, fled towards the checkout, were briefly detained by the lure of dollar bin toys, and finally emerged from the hellmouth victorious.

The tree was wrapped to the soundtrack of 80s pop and 90s emo. The boys, occasionally glancing from the kitchen, were excited by our progress.  Hey gals, Mad Chef chirped, you know what you're making?!

NOooooooooOOOh! we eagerly sang, expecting the proper response: A work of art! Beauty like nothing we've ever seen before! SPUN GOLD!  

BARK,  both boys cried in unison.

As I opened my mouth to utter the phrase we've all come to know and love, Ruggy quickly amended: you know, like a birch tree.

And it's Ruggy for the save!  What bathroom?!

The tree, however, will need some armed guards to keep it protected. Chica has already decided we're hanging it from the ceiling next year.  

Our first thanksgiving avec tree! There's no hope for Ruggy now, the rule has been broken, it's tradition. Oh yeah, and I found a use for the rest of that off grain bandana print.