Contrary to what people think of me up until today, I actually love Christmas. AT Christmas.
Some of you agree with my view of today, some will say that I'm at least a month behind in my comfort and joy, and still others will scoff that it's not even December 23rd yet, what's all this Christmas nonsense?
It's all a matter of choice, but of late I've taken note that the debate over the so-called Christmas Creep--no, not Uncle Ernie, the tendency of businesses to drop the flag on the season earlier and earlier every year--has intensified. And, as with most good fights, it's a he said/she said sorta deal.
The whole thing is just a front on which a battle of the sexes is being fought. Men feel one way about the season that 'tis, women another. It's almost to a rule. Don't worry, though, I'm not going to bore you with silly things like data and research, instead I'll just supply anecdotes from my own marriage, the Internet, and radio.
As all things evil usually do, this one starts at Wal-Mart. That bastion of the capitalist overindulgence, that new American church, that great teat at which the cheap and the self-hating choose to suckle, it's where you'll see the demand that Christmas start in November. Oh, and also at Tim Hortons, that bastion of blue collar Canadian-ness. These are the two businesses at which you are GUARANTEED to see Christmas decorations and specials on November 1st. For them, Labour Day to March 18 is pretty much a steady stream of theme days and decorations.
There's always a bit of dissension, though it's usually just delivered with a shrug. This year, it got so vocal that Shoppers Drug Mart actually postponed playing Christmas carols for a while. The revolution works! Well, it worked for pre-teen November, but it seems that nothing can stop the tinsel once Remembrance Day has been given its half-hearted due. (Maybe they should start giving poppy-shaped coupons at Best Buy to awaken interest.)
There are people who say the more Christmas the better, and the sooner. They put up their trees as they take down their Jack O Lanterns, they wear reindeer sweaters with poppies on them, they start being nicer in line ups because the season is all up on us, even thought they haven't even changed their clocks from Daylight Savings yet. These people, it appears, are mostly women.
Then there are those who curse at the sight of any combination of green and red, who refuse to discuss holiday plans before Grey Cup, and feel that doing any Christmas shopping prior to December 21st would be stupid because maybe, just maybe, the Mayans were right--why risk it? These, as I've discovered, are men.
I am a man. I do like Christmas, a lot. I just like it when it's supposed to be.
So, in our defence:
We like Christmas. Many of us even love it. Christmas Day is one of the most magical days of the year, and a few (myself) even love Christmas Eve--I actually prefer it; foreplay is sometimes better than fulfillment. But, Chaysis, have you never heard that great things are best in small doses? You don't do it with chocolate and wine, you tell us not to do it with beer and chicken wings, so why is it okay to gag ourselves, to gorge ourselves on Christmas?
Through November--one of my favorite months--I'm often called a grinch or a scrooge because I don't think Christmas should start to ease in until today, which is still 24 days early. I get called out? Really? Wal-Mart and Starbucks are telling you peace and good will and you think it comes from their sincerity?
Please. Can Christmas just be at Christmas? The word "special" is not a synonym for "pervasive." Most men really do love Christmas, but we love having it to look forward to. It loses its good when drawn out.
In parting, consider: when my wife finds as song she likes, she can listen to it over and over again. I've never understood that. I prefer to listen to a whole album, appreciating the lead-up to an especially stand-out track, and the proper hangover when it has passed, looking back fondly at a good moment, rather than trying to squeeze every last bit of joy out of it until you've just got a rind.
