After a rare stretch of balmy-for-December weather, we decided to go chop down a Christmas tree early. 'Go chop down', as opposed to 'go to the nursery, point to a good tree, then go pet the cat who lives there'.
We had a plan. *Tall and plump*. After some "suggestions" we did have to add:* green and pointed* to that list. Later we had to add: *still alive*.
After 47 days and nights tromping around the tree farm, tripping on stumps, falling in holes, we narrowed down the list bit by bit. Every hill we discarded another requirement until at last we were left with: GREEN. Even that was negotiable.
In spit of lowering our expectations we still could not decide on a tree. Weeping with hunger and fatigue, I finally conceded to Janey that she could pick whatever tree she wanted.
And this, my friends, is how the fattest Christmas tree *EVER* came to dwell in my living room!