Operation: Obliterate Christmas Tree

So here's the shitshow I've been living in for the last 48 hours. Ever tried to put up a Christmas tree with two kittens who think they're reincarnated Tarzans? If not, let me give you a sneak peek into the festive hell I've been attempting to survive.

First, it was the tree stand. No, not the simple screw-in kind. It was some sort of medieval torture device that required a degree in engineering and the patience of a saint. After about two hours and a pair of blistered hands later, I finally got the damn thing standing. Then, I painstakingly hung each ornament, a mix of family heirlooms and dollar store finds, all while fending off the twin fur demons who saw each decoration as a shiny new enemy to be vanquished.

Just as I finished and was basking in the twinkling glory of my masterpiece, it fucking happened. I heard a rustle, then a crash, and my beautifully decorated Christmas tree was on its side, a good two-thirds of the ornaments shattered, and the kittens sat innocently amongst the wreckage, eyes wide. One raised a paw, knocked a surviving bulb onto the floor, and chased it.

I'm now sitting on the floor of my living room, surrounded by broken glass, pine needles, and two smug kittens. Don't even have the energy to clean up. I'm just drinking spiked eggnog directly from the carton and Googling how to cat-proof a Christmas tree. Or how to Christmas-proof cats. Fuck, I don't even know anymore.

To all you festive folks out there, enjoy my misery. Maybe it'll be funny when I'm a few more eggnogs deep. Right now, I'm just trying to figure out if I can pass off a Charlie Brown Christmas tree as minimalist chic.