You may have your own reasons for knowing it's almost Christmas, and I certainly have mine. Perhaps one day we'll do coffee (you pay, natch), and you can tell me yours. In the meantime, here are ten reasons why I know it's almost Christmas:
One, it said so in Walmart. Well, at least in August, no less. I saw Christmas-type stuff for sale then, putting me in a Christmas-type mood.. Santa Claus and sandy claws don't really mix, do they? I headed for the nearest mistletoe, looking for a little, er, action. Thought someone nearby was puckering up, but they were just testing lipstick. Couldn't find even a branch, so I stood under an acorn tree. Said to myself, This is nuts.
Two, I got the first card of the season from you-know-who: Aunt Bob. She ranted as usual about no card, letter, or picture from us. So I fired off a response, just to satisfy her. Trust she likes my driver's license picture. If that doesn't work, I'll try my passport picture. And letter? I sent her a “C.” Should get me out of her will for sure.
Three, I'm still scrambling to figure out who should come for the Big Day. I've got one turkey, but I need a few more—if you get my drift. Maybe someone who's been naughty and nice, but mostly nice. I thought of Maurice and Mabel, but, as many of you know, they don't exist. Possibly Aunt Bob. Well, she's all fiction, too. I could save a lot of money feeding these invisible people.
Four, I just shovelled my first sidewalk. Mind you, that has less to do with the coming in of Christmas than the going out of Seth, my sidewalk-and-snow-sweeper son. Where are these teens when you need them? Maybe I should try his bedroom or the fridge next time; he's more than likely to be parked at either place.
Five, my wish list just went through an internal audit. You might say I had a gut feeling about more gifts. Funny, there is still nothing that I really need, and only a few things I really want. Gift cards, the greatest invention since I came along, do it right: I can buy what I want, when I want, and how I want. If you're in one of those rare generous moods, fans, please, no ties, hats, or socks. I have my own classy style (not), and I like it that way.
Six, I am starting to look at fir trees with an envious, economical eye. I always end up buying my eight-foot Scotch Pine from Home Depot. But I do recall back the BC days, where they have actual trees in the wild, when I would snag a tree from my neighbour's back forty. That made two wild things: My neighbour's tree and my neighbour's temper. (Sorry, I jest: I have never stolen anyone's tree, wild or otherwise.)
Seven, I am having panic attacks, but with a candy cane fragrance. Panic attacks are nothing new; panic attacks in red and green are.
Eight, I'm already hearing the firefights starting about lights, “Merry Christmas,” and nativity scenes. Give me grace, people. Deal with history, not political correctness. Didn't you know that multiculturalism is dying, maybe even dead? I'm not sure about our roots as a Christian country, but I am sure that celebrating Christmas is still a no-brainer.
Nine, I am writing this Christmas column, aren't I? This is near the end of my fifth year of “Foremost on my Mind.” Every year I do my best to be witty, innovative, and accurate. I sure trust I'm doing that now, so it must be nearly Christmas.
Ten, it says so on the calendar. Probably not the actual date, but it was an actual event. (See #7 for my brief historical rant.) Every time you write the date, or even use the letters “BC” or “AD” in your correspondence, you acknowledge the historical Jesus.
Ah, Christmas, it's the time of year when the kids perform melodiously at school; when the heartfelt strains of Christmas carols permeate malls, walls, and halls; and when there's more goodwill in December than the other eleven months combined.
I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's almost Christmas.
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