Tinseltown

by Alana Quartuccio

Did you know this time of year always brings my wife and me to the edge of divorce? No, it isn’t my horrible eating habits or money problems or my crazy night owl lifestyle. And it isn’t jealousy or relatives or kids, either. It’s just one little word that causes so many big problems: tinsel.

That’s right. Tinsel. 

Allow me to explain. 

When I was growing up, we always had a real Christmas tree. My dad was fanatical about that. He loved to pick it out, tie it to the top of his “Carry All” (that’s what we called his work truck) and put it up in our parlor right in front of our picture window so anyone who passed by the house could see. 

Once the tree was in the stand, he got his six pack of Schaefer beer, lit up his Lucky Strikes and sat back patiently as my mom and the five of us kids strung the lights and hung the ornaments. Once that was done, we all took our seats on the floor, my dad took one last swig of the “one beer to have when you’re having more than one,” snubbed out his unfiltered “Luckies” and headed for the box of tinsel. Now, when I say box, I don’t mean singular. I mean a literal CASE of what had to be at least a dozen individual boxes of tinsel. I can still remember the white and red plastic wrapping with the little window in the corner (so you could see the tinsel).

He would cautiously unwrap the first box and walk around the tree, gently throwing handfuls of tinsel from the very top to the very bottom. Once he got through the first couple of boxes, he would call us up one at a time and instruct us on the proper way of applying the tinsel. Of course, me being the youngest, I threw it on like I was throwing snowballs. I can still hear him say, “Tom, son…you’re making Daddy mad…” So, then I would just throw it on our German Shepherd, Queenie, instead. Neither Dad nor Queenie appreciated that.

Honestly, by the time my dad was done, the tree was no longer green. It looked like a giant silver cactus. And that was exactly how he wanted it. He would stand back and admire his work, then light the fireplace and another Lucky and sit back down and finish the six pack. 

Fast forward 25 years. My wife and I are putting up our first Christmas tree. She goes along with the real tree tradition, the ornaments and the lights, but then when I start to open the tinsel…

“I hate tinsel.”

“How can you hate tinsel???”

“It’s so messy and gets everywhere. I don’t think the tree needs it.”

I resisted the urge to call the divorce lawyer and talked her into compromising. We ended up putting only a couple of boxes on the tree. 

Then, the next year, it was one box. The year after that, it was a few strands. Before I knew it, there was no more tinsel on the tree. 

Mrs. Scrooge had effectively banned tinsel from our household. Bah humbug!

But that doesn’t stop me from asking every year. I’ve tried bribing, begging, you name it. She just won’t budge. Maybe I’ll get lucky one of these Christmases.

Speaking of Luckies, I’m sure my dad is looking down, a Schaefer in one hand and a Lucky in the other, and shaking his head. And I just can’t have that.

So, you know what? I’m putting tinsel on my tree this year! I may end up sleeping in my basement, but dammit, I’m gonna drink a six pack of Diet Coke, buy some candy cigarettes and throw a shitload of tinsel on that tree!!!

Just don’t tell my wife.

I sincerely wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a healthy, happy New Year!

Want more? Check out the December 2025 issue of New Jersey Automotive!