I’m a sucker for odd family traditions. The kinds of things you don’t see peeping through the windows of every other house on Christmas morning. I love the unique and the bizarre.
Truthfully, the perfectly decorated, everything-matching Christmas tree makes me vomit faster than chugging the lost eggnog you found in your trunk six months later. I want the mismatched tree, full of school-crafted ornaments and collectible Hallmark Muppets and Baby Yodas.
When I see a tri-toned, designed for Instagram tree, I think of a bridezilla on Christmas. A Christ-zilla. And that makes baby Jesus cry.