Faking It

There are often times, in all of our lives, when he have to fake something.  A smile, a surprise, an orgasm or a job. And, often enough, they are justified as little white lies that mean no harm.  These fakes, if you will, are like points, oddly enough.  We pride ourselves in them like accomplishments or goals.  Therefore, this brings me to the almighty Christmas Tree.  Now, it is much debated on the streets where you live between  Fake? or Real?  Its much like the debate between Rome and Florence. You know the one.  It goes something like "which is your favorite?" and there is always the debate, the good the bad, pros and cons alike.  More often than not it is split between who has the best pizza and pazzaz and the outcome is 50/50.  The same debate occurs at this time of year when people decide on buying a fake tree or a real tree.  Its a funny debate and goes something like; "I like the way a real tree smells" and/or "I like not having to clean dropped needles for 3 weeks at the end of every year off my floor".  Now, admittedly, I am a fake tree advocate.  Here is my argument, which doesn't trend too far off the track of those who are in my corner; I like fake trees because they are mess free, easy to store, worth the cost, can change using different decor every year, come pre-lit and I don't have to haul them outside and wait weeks for garbage trucks to accept them as trash.  When I was young, my parents had a fake, flocked, Christmas tree.  Decked with red lights and a mix and match of ornaments with each of our names scrolled on the bottom of each one, the tree stood proud and perfect in its designated spot throughout the season without a worry.  At the end of the season, it was carefully packed in its original cardboard home and stored in the garage.  Fake trees, or artificial if you are still pretending its better than fake, come in so many different colors, sizes, styles, "breeds" and gadgets, why wouldn't you buy one.  Okay, I know, I know, the smell!!! I understand, but candles or fresh greens can easily fill that void.  And, face it all you fresh cut tree lovers, they loose there smell not long after they absorb the scents in your home which takes about a week.  Imagine pulling out a tree already with lights and placing it where you want knowing it will fit and be merry.  No stress of driving around looking for the best one or waiting for the delivery man to bring and set it up for you.  No more vacuuming daily around the tree's base and no more horror of mustering up the will to de-deck it and drag it out the front door trying unsuccessfully to not leave a pin needled trail behind. 
Our tree sat in its box, in the garage, near the boat year after year counting the days, all 335 of them until it was resurrected inside the house.  However, after many many years of feeling the safety of its box something very tragic happened for which I was blamed, but only because I was a good son.  You see, my dad was a secret smoker after promising my mother he had quit.  He would smoke in the garage in the winter when he should have been running an errand or walking around the house to "make sure everything was okay".  Clearly, he was faking his manly duties in order to sneak a smoke.  Anyway, I, on the otherhand, loved to play with the electric coal starter.  I would plug it in and melt snow or ice into cool scribbles in the ground.  On one very cold evening, I chose to stay in that night, but my dad chose to go out to the garage to "plug in the cars" so they would start in the morning.  It was his smoking time.  The next morning a very large burn hole in the large cardboard box next to the boat signaled a horrific disfigurement of its contents.  A good portion of the fake Christmas tree was black and melted.  Who done it?  Well, I was blamed for playing with the coal starter.  But, I know what really happened, because my dad asked me, well, bribed me to play along.  After that, three quarters of the tree always looked great when it was tucked into a corner of the family room at Christmas.  My point?  Even in its worst state, you don't have to throw away a fake tree. 
My stance remains; I choose Fake Christmas Trees.  And, I also choose Rome!!