It’s July 25th. The temperature outside is 102 degrees Fahrenheit, in the shade. The swimming pool is crowded with people in bikinis; movie theaters are crowded with people not fortunate enough to have air-conditioning at home.

And some damned fool, a few years ago, decided that this should be declared “Christmas In July Day.” Every. Single. Year.

So I’m taking the day off . . . not to shop, but to hide. To hide from the ads and TV commercials telling me it’s time to start my Christmas shopping. Because it’s not! And to hide from the merchants telling me I need to take advantage of their one-time-only low prices . . . on merchandise they couldn’t sell last year, that I didn’t want then, and I don’t want now. And from the whole “let’s-see-if-we-can-make-life-go-by-even-faster” mentality. Because in my world, there’s still the rest of summer to get through, then beautiful autumn, the fun of Halloween, the joy of Thanksgiving (remember that?), and then . . . and only then . . . the stores get decorated and the Christmas cheer begins.

Or that’s the way it should be . . . the way it used to be. And — screw the merchandisers! — I’m going to go and pull the covers over my head now, pretend it’s still 1960-something, and not come out until the 26th (possibly of November). Because I’m sick of being sick of Christmas by the time it actually arrives.

Some people really know how to take the joy out of life. I can’t stop them . . . but I don’t have to join them.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
7/25/24