We Dexter-ed our Christmas...

Ok. So I have a very shameful secret. Hubby and I still have our Christmas tree in our basement. And it's February. And this isn't the first time this has happened.


It's not like it's decorated or anything. It's just that the odds are stacked against it's removal. It's all exciting to go and pick out the tree, and get it home and set it up and admire it and it's nice pine-y smell. But after Christmas is all done, and the house has been returned to normal, our tree still stands glaring at us and reminding us what horrible people we are. The city doesn't collect curbside garbage in our community, so we can't just drag it out to the road and wait for the garbage fairies to take it away. And our car is a teeny tiny 1990 Honda Accord, so it's impossible to fit a dead tree in there without a giant mess. And the dump is soooooo far. And we are lazy. So, so lazy.


Hubby decided that enough was enough today, since we are having friends over tonight, and he didn't want to share our embarrassment with them. So I came up with this awesome plan that we would wrap it in garbage bags, secured with twine and then it wouldn't be so messy, and then we would take it to the dump. This plan did not work. At all. Hubby touched the tree in preparation for the first garbage bag and every single needle fell off the tree onto the carpet. Every. Single. One. Then we were left with the sharpest, evilest tree of death-branches that poke through heavy duty garbage bags like they were soap bubbles. And to get to it you have to walk across an agonizing carpet of teeny-tiny spikes that lodge themselves into your feet and between your toes. Also, we didn't have any twine.


Staring at our obvious defeat, I came up with another brilliant plan. We would simply systematically hack off each of the death-branches until the Christmas tree was reduced to a manageable pile of death, and then put the pile into garbage bags and put them in the dumpster. In other words, we would Dexter the Christmas tree. Hubby loved the idea, as it saved us the cost and hassle of going to the dump, while allowing him to play out some serial killer scene and be all manly by taking care of a problem that needed fixing.


So, Hubby runs to Canadian Tire and asks the assistant for heavy-duty garbage bags and a hack saw strong enough to easily saw off limbs...dons his gloves and begins to hack Christmas into manageable pieces so we can hide it in garbage bags and throw it in the dumpster. Then, I vacuumed up the blood needles, had a shower, and we are ready to pretend that nothing ever happened...

I feel sort of shameful though. I know while we are enjoying our company tonight, I will be scared that our friends will find some small piece of evidence of the massacre that occurred in that very spot, and our secret will be brought to light.


Hubby and I are going out to rent the next season of Dexter tomorrow.