HO-ly crap in a Bundt pan, as my pal Jeff at TheWVSR would say. Damn! I walked into a freakin’ hornet’s nest this morning. Not literally, of course. You ever take a day off and come in to work to find that the entire place has gone to hell? Exhibit A. My day. Son of a bitch! Unbelievable. And it started out with an extremely frustrating visit to the car dealership where they decided not only the thingamajigee but the thingamajigee squared has to be replaced, so first they’re going to give me a loaner, but then they decide to give me a rental, so I have to wait for the rental people to bring me to the place to give me the crappiest car they have so that I can drive to my office and get waylaid when I walk in the door. Then once I got to the office, wellllllllllllll. . .It truly is not worth it to take a day off. That, coupled with the fact that the work at my office, instead of slowing down as the holidays approach, speeds up. Funny thing about crime. . .
So anyway, this was going to be my week to rant, rave, and even spew a little, about people going nuts on Christmas waaaaaaaaaaaaaay too early. About the fact that Thanksgiving, the most American of holidays, is all but forgotten between the retail nightmares that Halloween and Christmas have become. But, alas, I can’t. [Wordnerd hangs her head in shame here.] Because, I’m afraid, my house got decorated. Not inside, mind you, but outside. My son, who is about to turn fourteen and is entirely too cool for anything or anyone — you know the kind — you can’t kiss him, hug him, call him by annoying, cute little names, or even say goodbye to him in carpool? Yeah. (If you don’t have one of these kids yet, you will. So don’t go all smug on me.) Anyway. He’s too cool for anything. But not for Christmas. He started in on me last Friday. The freakin’ 18th of November! Next thing I know, I hear the attic door opening and he’s off and running. Before I could do anything, the outside stuff was done. Lights hung, little Santas & snowmen waving to the passersby, you name it, he did it. And has a whole list of other stuff he wants to do to my house if I’ll only give him my credit card and a ride to Walmart. Christmas is like crack to this kid. So what am I gonna do? Be a grinch and tell him to stop? Oh, there’s a memory to tell his kids and his therapist.

I’ve agreed to get started on the inside of the house this weekend. After the LSU-Arkansas game, of course. And I can continue to rant and rave, not about my own house, but about the retailers that don’t even have Halloween stuff on the shelves on October 31 because they are already putting out the Christmas stuff. And the Christmas stuff will be swept away on the 26th so that they can put cheesy little Valentine’s bears and boxes of really, really bad candy out there.

I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to post again before Thanksgiving — it all depends on whether these people up here expect me to actually work before the holidays. If I don’t, have a wonderful pre-Christmas. I mean Thanksgiving. The forgotten holiday.

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