Tomorrow I will take down my Christmas tree, which is one of the worst household chores EVER. Seriously, I'd rather scrub the toilet. I don't like decorating my tree that much, but I like how it looks when it's done, so I put it up every year, but yeah really HATE taking that booger down. But alas, it must be done, so done it will be, and then the room will look nekkid.
So tomorrow morning, me and the tree will fight. The fake needles will stab my arms as I reach into the interior to get all the round shiny ornaments, then the ornament hangers, in cahoots with the tree no doubt, will entwine themselves further on the branches, and stab me like a fish-hook when they see a juicy target, like that space between your fingernail and finger.
And then the third wave of the battle. Once the balls and oraments are down, the lights will attack. As I pull the strands away from the branches, the needles will be loosed like a swarm of medieval arrows in my direction. I will wear my glasses perhaps, so that they cannot poke me in my eyes.
It will be a long and arduous fight, and I may be scratched and battered in the end, but tree you are coming DOWN.