Back when the holidays were invented (same year they opened the first department store, incidentally), celebrations were restricted to a few short weeks. Now, the season begins before your bikini has even finished drying, while your sweaters are still slumbering peacefully among the moth balls. What’s next? Carols drowning out Fourth of July fireworks? String lights wrapped around freshly grilled hot dogs? Snow men elbowing me in the face in the Sloppy Tuna bathroom line? Sorry if I’m a Grinch for wanting the holiday spirit to consume at most a month of my time, but I’m not alone. Mariah Carey, widely thought of as Madame Christmas herself, is with me.
Kat McPhee, who prior to today had never done anything to me personally, represents the opinion of my enemies, who seem to think it’s permissible to “get into the holiday spirit” before the corpse of summer is even cold.
Carey is on my team, which is to say, both the correct team and the winning team.
If she really loved me, she’d amend it to “Let’s get through Thanksgiving first,” but I will take what I can get. Summer isn’t officially over until September 23. If I hear you play even a single bar of holiday music before then, I am making a citizen’s arrest.
