Oh Christmas tree,Oh Christmas tree


Two things that don't work well in a fake form - boobs and Christmas trees.

Two things my boyfriend is fond of - fake boobs and fake Christmas trees.

It's been a weekend of revelations for me.

It began on Friday with an innocent discussion about our Christmas tree. Since then our apartment has turned into a battle ground with all lines drawn around the still empty space for our much debated tree.

I had assumed that on Saturday morning John and I would wrap up well, totter off to buy a fresh tree and thereafter spend the day trimming it while drinking mulled wine and listening to Christmas carols. Bear with me, I have very old fashioned ideas about Christmas.

However my normally amicable boyfriend had very different ideas which involved going to Penney's, getting a pre decorated tree in a box, taking it home, sticking it up and hitting the pub.

As you can imagine it lead to some heated debate, some temper tantrums and the sorry end of one angel who'll never make it to the top of the tree.

For me Christmas is all about the tree.And it has to be the real, fresh out of the ground, deal.

John disagrees - he says picking up pine needles, having your hands glued by resin, wrestling the tree into the house and onto the stand and repeating the process in reverse order after Christmas is nothing but hassle.

Bah humbug. It's the best bit! I will admit that fake trees are a lot better now than when I growing up. The image of my aunt's silver tinsel atrocity haunts me still. But they still don't compare to a fresh one, filling your house with the scent of pine.

Naturally, as is the way with arguments, the Christmas tree controversy spilled over into other conversations and I discovered there was a lot about John I had yet to learnt.

For starters he's a fan of busty babes which caused me to shed many a tear when I realised my A cup size must be a constant source of disappointment to him.

Instead of the reassuring platitudes I expected when I voiced this concern, he offered to get me a boob job, which naturally enough lead to further hysterics.

Personally I like imitation designer bags and potato - smash is a godsend, particularly now that John isn't cooking for me. In retrospect it may not have been a good idea to shout "I know you like fakes, I fake it with you all the time."

Unsurprisingly we're still tree-less although I am hopeful negotiations can begin again this evening. I've spent an awful lot of money on a luxury Marks and Spencer's dinner.

I figure my cooking is not the best way to say sorry - in case you're wondering why, let me refer you back to my passion for smash ......








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