One Christmas Rita and I searched the area to locate the perfect tree. A nearby lot provided a good choice. Selecting the perfect tree was a ritual for us each year. Hundreds of trees—spruces, scotch pines and more—separated by size and price, made it easy. The six-foot Scotch pine that we bought had a nice shape for our family room.

Thirty minutes later, it sat in our tree-stand where we judged again its size and beauty. I turned it one-way, then Rita turned it another, visualizing together its best side and how it would look decorated.

“Let’s have a glass of red wine and hors-d’oeuvres to think it over,” she said—a sign she did not like it.

“It looks okay to me.”

“It is a lovely tree, but it is too big for our space. It covers part of our wing chairs,” she said.

“Well, I’ll just take it back.”

“You can’t do that! It’s a Christmas tree,” she exclaimed.

“You return things all the time. Why not return a $45 tree?”

“They don’t take back Christmas trees!”

“Well, I’ll give it a try. All they can say is no.”

I drove the few miles to the lot with the tree hanging out of the trunk and then carried it to the owner.

“My wife doesn’t like this tree and I’d hate to see a tree ruin her Christmas.”

“Heck” he said. “We can’t spoil a lady’s Christmas. Just go over and select the same size tree. Drop that one on the reject pile.”

It wasn’t easy to pick a perfect tree because I knew the scrutiny it would receive at home.

“Honey, here’s your new tree,” I said. “How do you like it?”

“I can’t believe you had the nerve to return a Christmas tree,” she said emphatically.

“The owner and I nearly had a fistfight about returning it, but I won the argument. He didn’t want you to have a horrible Christmas.”

“You didn’t! You couldn’t! How embarrassing. I hope the neighbors didn’t see you.”

“I’m only kidding honey. The guy was great.”

“Take any one you want for the little lady,” he said.

“Now, after all that, you know it had to be the perfect Christmas tree.”

Labels: , , , , ,