December 1st. Every year, that's the day when I start acting like it's Christmas time.
Not before. Not a single day before then will I do anything Christmas-related unless forced to, such as purchasing and setting up our Christmas tree. My wife and children often coerce me into doing that.
But in my own form of protest against the now-insanely-long holiday season, I will not voluntarily sing a Christmas carol, eat a Christmas cookie, buy/wrap a present or otherwise acknowledge that it's Christmas before the first day of December.
Christmas is 25 full days into the month. Isn't that enough time to celebrate and prepare? Twenty-five days? I say it is. Why do we have to make it longer? To me that cheapens the magic of the season. Christmas is CHRISTMAS: The Granddaddy of Holidays. It doesn't need any help from us in for the form of October decorations or early-November shopping sprees.
So come midnight tonight, I will gladly take the road before us and sing a chorus or two of whatever Christmas song you'd like. But not before. Not a minute before. Tempt me all you want with holiday treats and my favorite Christmas tunes at 10:30 p.m., but I won't pay any attention. Two hours later? I'll gorge myself and sing at the top of my lungs with you.
Deal?
Deal.
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