We sure are an impatient lot, although as I get older, I’m convinced it’s better to be called “impatient” than stared at by white-coated strangers who call you “inpatient.”
Crews got busy early this year, making sure the Cumming Christmas lights were up before anyone thought about a turkey. I love getting a head start on this festive time of year. But Christmas trees before Halloween?
It’s as confusing as winter in Alaska, looking outside and not knowing if it’s time to wake up or watch the six o’clock news.
I’m fearful for department store Santas never getting a break. I’m not talking about time to visit the food court or facilities.
This Santa gig may very well become a year-round gig.
“Mama, can we go see Santa?”
“What in the name of Jimmy Stewart are you talking about? You just saw him last week. The elves were passed out from the heat or daquiries. It’s 97 degrees outside and we’ve got Africa-like humidity. I’m sweating in the shower and we’ve got steaks on the grill. The Braves game starts in 30 minutes.”
Thanksgiving has come. A month from today, we’ll be cleaning up the carnage that comes from dealing with Christmas-wrapper overload.
Some things are confusing the heck out of me. It might be early onset Alzheimer’s. Often, at lunchtime, I’m trying to remember what I had for breakfast.
For instance, why does Black Friday start on Thanksgiving, right after a nice tryptophan-induced snooze?
In the future, who will be the demented soul that announces a Black Thursday sale, with doors opening at 5 a.m., leaving plenty of time to slam the bird in the oven?
Prepare Grandma for a fistfight as she gets walloped by an angry mob that takes the term “door-buster” to a new level. Walmart should hire Michael Buffer, who could holler “Let’s get ready to rumble,” two minutes before the doors open.
Better arrive early so you can get one of those $19.99 65-inch TVs.
What? They’re all gone? I was the third person in the store.
Oh, I see. You only had two for sale.
I’d tell the manager he missed his calling and should have been a carnival barker.
Plenty of time to tweak those retailer strategies for next year.
I understand Cyber Monday is tomorrow. Thankful Thursday, Friday and Monday get some love. Stores are open today and the state’s voters have allowed booze to be served earlier in the day on Sundays.
I sure hope that there’s room on the agenda for church.
And I believe my Christmas shopping will be done right where I am as this is being written —in front my Mac.
It’s sad for the carnies, I mean retailers, who are getting a lump-of-coal-like present in the form of fewer shoppers for four more weeks.
My shopping, for the most part, will see me assuming hermit-like qualities. No rudeness and door dings.
Gift cards are a Godsend. Chris and Greg will have to take ownership of my former supreme gift-giving title.
Here’s a little scratch from Dadoo Claus. Pick yourself out something nice.
Oh, I’m not that much of a bah-humbug guy. There will still be a few gifts for Vicki, Chris and Greg to open. But not like previous Christmas mornings.
We’ll go to Christmas Eve Mass and spend a quiet day at home. There might be a nostalgic reading of “The Night Before Christmas,” with the boys nearby and Chester snoring away by the fire.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Christmas and all the trimmings. I miss the boys organizing their gifts in individual areas of the living room.
I still laugh at memories of Chris, from the backseat, perfectly delivering the “Ah-Hah!” as Jose Feliciano sings “Feliz Navidad.” Alabama’s “Christmas in Dixie” makes me grateful to be a Southerner.
I now like country Christmas songs best. For the life of me, I couldn’t name a Michael Buble song or pick him out of a lineup.
A recent column dealt with my miserable failure as a one-shift wonder at McDonald’s. After getting to experience so many heartwarming Christmas mornings, it’s time to try something new.
I’m well aware that Christmas is painful for some folks and I’d like to help.
Any ideas where I can serve someone less fortunate some Christmas dinner? Keep me away from a fryer. They scare me. Anything else, I’m game.
Mike Tasos’ column is published every other Sunday. He’s serious about helping out on Christmas Day. It’s a good thing to do. Besides, he can’t stand to watch any NBA games. Comments can be sent to firstname.lastname@example.org.