Why I’m not allowed a real Christmas tree.
I nearly severed my thumb completely when cutting off the bottom straggly branches of a Christmas tree with a freshly sharpened serrated bread knife (obviously the best tool for the job), just before going to pick up my son from school on the last day of term.
I had visions of the perfect afternoon; peeping the tree, putting true baubles out, then taking her to pick her brother up & decorating the tree with the family in our new home for our first Christmas - DH was finishing early for Christmas that day too.
Instead, DH returned to a 7ft tree sprawling across the lounge, branches everywhere, a first aid kit & half the downstairs covered in big blood stains (every door handle I touched, the kitchen was awash with red blobs, it was splattered across the sink, blobs across the hot chocolate mugs I’d prepared, it was quite literally bloody everywhere).
I then walked in with my daughter in her pushchair, blood in her hair, 4 year old son as white as a sheet (he’s never done blood well!) & what could only be described as a red boxing glove of dressing & bandages soaked through. I mean, you could see the ruddy bone.
One A&E visit later, thumb reattached, we dressed the tree the next day & I escaped the washing up through the whole festive season.
And we found out DH is allergic to spruce trees so spent the whole of Christmas on antihistamines & sneezing.
Next year we bought a fake tree.
I also managed to get full thickness burns on the same thumb after picking up a giant 100w soldering iron (meant for big wiring jobs) without looking, but that’s a different story.