Trees and cars

The fake Christmas tree went up last night. Fake--bleuch!--but environmentally sensible, and no more needles in the cracks of the wood floor, and no more brittle, droopy trees by the time Christmas Eve rolls around. There is that.

I noticed this year that the tree had a peculiar smell when I pulled it out of its canvas storage bag. A sort of musty, cat smell. Liam pointed out the irony: that our environmentally sensible kitty litter smells like Christmas trees and our Christmas tree smells like kitty litter.

That's just plain wrong. I'm putting the fake tree outside--we'll see if it's indoor/outdoor, and only the fit will survive--and we're getting the real thing. Enough already.

***
Went to the Toyota dealer to look at their certified used cars. I didn't see anything I liked--not used, not new. (Had the standard shitty encounter with a salesman; as I'm walking out the door he's shouting new deals at me--cutting the price by $750 every time he opens his mouth. Which meant I would not buy from him, because I'd think I was schnookered no matter what price I ultimately paid. Why don't they just price the cars fairly and shut up already?) I'll never buy a Ford again; there's history there, most of it, admittedly, relating to customer service. But, too, I need fuel efficiency. I'm in the odd position to be able to buy pretty much whatever I want, but there's not a make or model on the planet that rings my bells. The BMWs sit well on the road, my sister tells me; she just bought one. But I feel uncomfortable with the brand; I want something a little more anonymous: I don't want to hear the comments--I don't like the volume, the statement.

Which made me think last night: would I be happiest if I just disappeared into a little poof--if I didn't even make a ripple?? Car purchase as existential reflection. Exhausting. Somebody just go buy it for me, OK? Pick whatever. I'll pay you back.