Meet Septimus, our Christmas tree.
He was chopped off by its roots, bore the suffering like a real man, and thrown into the market like a slave. He was then bought by creepy strangers and landed in a noisy house of twelve humans, million books and a grand piano. Septimus is greatly to be pitied. For weeks he is forced to carry odd-looking ornaments he does not care about, and for weeks he has to wear a star-shaped hat which probably itches a great deal. Strangled with electricity wires and shiny gleaming lights, he has to endure the feeling of presents at his feet, while knowing none of them belong to him.
His reward for all this unpleasantness will be needle-loss and a good toss into either a fire or either a public waste heap.
Let us all take a moment of silence for the grief that Septimus is going through. Christmas is not an easy time for everyone.