While buying new sneakers for the girls the other night, I was subjected to Christmas carols.
On the way home, when I had escaped the carols, MIL called to tell me she’d spent the week decorating her house for Christmas, and to ask if I would help her put up her Christmas tree. That’s disturbing on several levels, but mostly because her Christmas tree is the size of my minivan, whereas I am the size of me. Also?
It is not Christmastime.
This is Pre-Thanksgivingtime. You’re supposed to be thinking about turkey, pumpkin pie, and how to avoid conflict with family. Surely you’re allowed to think about football, and maybe even get excited about the Macy’s parade, but it’s definitely not time for carols yet.
I should not yet be placed in one of those Christmas Party status scenarios on Facebook. I should not yet be receiving Christmas cards. It is, at present, suitable to be thinking about Hanukkah, but not fucking Christmas. Not yet.
Um, I actually like Christmas stuff at Christmas.
And technically, I don’t like Christmas. I like pagan stuff during Yuletide. And so do you, if you like the tree, baking, candles, and Holly, but whatever, People Who Worship New Gods.
I am not at war with Christmas, I just don’t want to be all-Christmased-up until I’ve put the leftover pie in the fridge.
One holiday at a time, thank you very much.