Thanks, Dad.

"To her the name of father was another name for love."

~ Fanny Fern

I'll never, ever forget last Thursday. It was a father/daughter moment at its best.

Only my dad would come to my rescue at a local hardware store and help me transport the perfect little Christmas tree. You see, I had found this tree, and simply put, I fell in love. And, yes, you guessed it; the tree was the display model and wasn't for sale.

After a fair amount of persuasion and smooth-talking, I succeed in winning over the poor woman who had the unfortunate job of manning the outdoor garden center. Frown. Other than being a housekeeper at a sleazy motel, that's got to be the most miserable job ever. I silently thanked my parents for making me go to college, and then set about waiting approximately 30 minutes for the head of the holiday center, Gino, to unbolt the Christmas tree from a wooden palette. Poor guy. He probably hated me.

While waiting, my dad and I practically had ourselves a little tailgating session in the parking lot at Lowe's. Classic. All we needed were a few drinks and some bratwurst and we'd have had ourselves a party. Finally, Gino arrived, unbolted the tree and helped us load the pine delight into the back of my dad's car. We won't talk about how much water ended up in his trunk, but I will tell you that he was a real sport about the whole thing. Bless him.

We arrived back at 403 and despite the blustery winds, flying snow, and darkness, he helped me set up the tree on the front porch. I wish I had video of him and I putting on the lights. We laughed till we cried and I'm pretty sure those babies are never coming off. Never. Never. Nev-er.

Thanks, Acey. What a hilariously great time.