The Christmas Tree Shops

My Godmother dragged me to the Christmas Tree Shop today. This is a store that is full of everything you never knew that you really needed, and even if you walked in with a strong resolve to "just look around", you'll walk out with a cartful of ceramic pumpkins, useless kitchen gadgets, and picture frames, along with a slightly dazed feeling that would normally come from having a roofie slipped into your drink. This store seems to be a primarily New England phenomenon; New Englanders are notorious for having lots of goofy shit on their walls, and at the CTS, goofy shit abounds.

I walked in and immediately came upon lined wicker baskets. Sweet Jesus, lined baskets. These things are the weakness of every female member of the Pottery Barn generation; until we have lined baskets, the house is not a home. Seriously, do a Google search of "lined baskets", and Pottery Barn is one of the first hits. We pretend to hate yuppies, but we all want our houses to be tastefully decorated in pure yuppie fashion.


Look at those baskets. Look at them! Who could resist? Two immediately went into my cart, one of each color. One will hold magazines, and one will hold mittens! I can see them in my foyer, smart striped cotton complementing the walls...my guests standing in awe:

"Are those lined wicker baskets?" "Why YES THEY ARE."

I did manage to pass up the Grape Relief Dinnerware, and the Autumn Bowls and Trays. I was only going to have Lined Wicker Baskets during this trip, that's all the budget was allowing for, and I didn't need anything else.

[wheels along to the next section]

Oh look! Goofy Halloween shit! Blinking wands with pumpkins on the end (that will break within the first 10 minutes of Trick or Treating...I know this logically, but for $1.69, who can say no?) get tossed into the cart. Had to get three, we must be fair and equitable with the offspring, and we certainly don't want bloodshed.

That's all I'm getting. That's it.

[starts wheeling toward the middle of the store, checking to see if Godmother is done yet]

Oh shit. It's the candle section. I know at this point that I'm all done.

Vanilla Sugar candles that smell just like cake frosting...Fresh Apple Pie, Chocolate Chip Cookie, Peach Cobbler...Dear God, they smell so good I'm about bite chunks out of the wax. I fill the cart with candles.

It's got a gingham ribbon? Fuck. Put it in the cart.
JUST PUT IT IN THE GODDAMNED CART
AND NOBODY GETS HURT.

High on scented wax, it's open season on the rest of the store.

Linens, health & beauty products, random snacks and gourmet foods that you don't see in regular supermarkets, as-seen-on-TV kitchen gadgets...all of it goes flying into my cart, almost as if I was being guided by some kind of outside force, an evil poltergeist that forces women spend too much money.

I got to the checkout with a cartful of stuff I could have done without. But I was intoxicated by the low prices and lined wicker baskets, so none of it mattered. I drove home feeling fulfilled.

The Christmas Tree Shop is crack for the suburban woman. You know you really shouldn't go back, but the inner demons beckon...

I hate that place. But I can't seem to get enough. Fucking baskets.