Tag Archives: fiddle faddle

Don’t You Just Love a Bargain?

Did hearing that familiar jingle tickle your neurotransmitters and make you want to shop, ladies? Not sure I’ve ever met a female who doesn’t love the Christmas Tree Shop. If there is someone out there who doesn’t, let me know. Because if you know of a female who doesn’t like it, they are probably on hardcore drugs that is blocking there bargain sensors, and they need an intervention stat. The Christmas Tree Shop is the best place to peruse shelves filled with the most random bullshit that no one really needs for 17 hours straight. That store has everything! Fuckin’, statues of animals for your ugly garden, baskets, Easter shit, salt shakers, Fiddle Faddle, tablecloths, everything. Women enter that store and walk every single aisle of that place approximately 17 times each before they are ready to consider checking out with the old lady in the green smock. Where do I even begin?!

When I was a little girl, I used to get so sad. Not because I didn’t have a Barbie Jeep Power Wheels (okay, that made me sad, too), but I was sad because I could never find useless memorabilia that had my name on it. Wasn’t the name “Molly” becoming more popular? Why the fuck couldn’t I find a barrette, stamp, comb, or fake license plate with the name “Molly” printed on it? Then, God answered my 9 year old prayers. Actually, my mom did by driving me to Avon. From that day on I could pour my blue Teenie drinks into this monogrammed mug: Okay, I lied. I didn’t own that mug. But had I seen it at the CTS back then, you better believe I would have owned it. My point here is that the Christmas Tree Shop made it possible for someone named Molly to buy some shit with the name Molly scrawled on it. And for that, I am forever grateful.I think one of the main reasons that women love the Christmas Tree Shop is picture frames. Women feel that there is no such thing as too many picture frames to throw around a crappy Quincy apartment. Or in my case, to hang up all over the 3 season’s room turned bedroom I live in at my parent’s house. Whatever. As females, we want all our guests to feel welcome in our humble abode. We do this by purchasing 57ish “LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH” frames. Preferably in black. Lucky for us, the Christmas Tree Shop is basically the “LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH” factory. So get a cart and throw every single “LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH” frame you can find. No matter how many you get, the total never exceeds 20 bucks. How is that possible? I don’t know. Christmas Tree Shop MAGIC.  When you get home, put all the pictures you have of you and your drunk friends standing at various bars into the frames. Who gives a shit if you have no friends? Just keep the sample pictures that come in the frames and tell everyone the unfamiliar faces are your cousins from east bum shit. Beautiful. Now everyone who enters your place knows that you are living, loving, and laughing, no matter how many behavioral meds you are on. And you know what makes me feel super powerful? Dragging a male to the Christmas Tree Shop. Men are like children when it comes to errands. They don’t want to go to the supermarket unless it’s for Shark Bites or beer. And they REALLY don’t want to go to the Christmas Tree Shop. That’s why you tell them that you guys are going on a “Surprise Mystery Trip”, and watch their dreams die as soon as you pull off the Jordan’s Furniture exit. Because honestly, what is in Avon that is appealing to men? I just tell my boyfriend that if he stops bitching we can stop at Newbury Comics on the way home for some Boba Fett merchandise. He should count his blessings that we aren’t at the Cape Cod Christmas Tree Shop, where none of his boys can hear him scream for help. You know, the one with the windmill. God, I fucking love that one.

Another section of the Christmas Tree Shop that I love is the art and mirror section. I don’t understand art, but everyone needs some abstract art to make themselves look complicated/intellectual. Or you can just be a townie and by those stupid pieces of painted wood that have your town written on them. I keep looking for a Quincy one, but the douchebag company that makes those signs are really favoring Hanover and Hingham. My mom’s favorite section is the seasonal section. This is the best place to buy all your tacky, I mean BEAUTIFUL, wreaths, Easter bunny figurines, scarecrows, and Santa window stickers. Exactly what your house needs around every single holiday. Also, every Christmas Tree Shop visit try to remember to stroll down the food aisle for some of the weirdest, most random condiments that you cannot find anywhere else. Raspberry-horseradish sauce for a dollar? Fuck it, why not? Toss it in the cart.


So I hope next weekend you will save room for a trip to the Christmas Tree Shop. I tried to drag my boyfriend there this past weekend, but I think God is definitely a dude because my new car started smoking and stalled before I made it off of my street. This was obviously a big set back, but there’s always next weekend. And the weekend after that. I just hope to never act like anyone in those fucking commercials. Getting all excited about fucking doorknob pillows and thermometer forks. Calm down. Also, I wonder if the lady in that commercial who’s husband was PUMPED for those stockings/statues knows that he is gay?


Thanks per usual to MM!

Update!: I have since moved out of the 3 seasons room at my parents. Moving on UP, to a deluxe Quincy Center apartment in the sky.

About these ads