The best thing about being too late is that there’s no more need to hurry.
- Ashleigh Brilliant
I like to be early. I don’t like being late. I don’t like that feeling of “oh-my-god-I’m-late-what-if-there’s-no-place-to-park-they’re-going-to-give-my-place/job/appointment/drink
-to-someone-else-and-where-the-HELL-are-my-keys-they-were-just-here” that tends to settle in my solar plexus when I’m running behind. If I say I’m going to be somewhere at a certain time, I’m going to do my damnedest to be there, if not early, at least on time.
Likewise, I don’t like other people to be late, either. At least without letting me know that they are, indeed, going to be tardy. I don’t need details about how the dog crapped on the rug and road construction funneled all the traffic in your neighborhood through
All that being said, there is such a thing as being too early. I am personally acquainted with someone who devoutly believes that if you’re not 47 minutes early for an event, you’re late. That person will probably be early for their own funeral, and will help survivors pick out the casket and ensure that there are enough drinks for the wake before the priest arrives.
So where was I going with this? Oh, yes. We make jokes about it every year, but I do believe this has set some kind of record. School, after all, hasn’t even started yet. But lo and behold: in the department store down the street, the Christmas ornaments are on display.
I really don’t know what else to say about it. The absurdity of it has, quite frankly, left me speechless. In case you haven’t looked at a calendar lately and are still under the impression that it’s 1996, allow me to inform you that it is August 17th. Not even September yet, and I can start picking out my tree decorations.
Anyone who still argues that Christmas is not a commercialized feeding frenzy needs to be taken out and shot.
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