I had to check the calendar just to be certain I wasn’t hallucinating. Sure enough, it’s mid-November, which, one could be forgiven for thinking, should mean that winter is nigh. ‘Course, here in southeast Texas, if you didn’t have a calendar handy, you almost wouldn’t know winter was approaching. The highs have been in the high 70s and low 80s, and while it’s (thankfully) not the the brutally oppressive dog days of August, neither is it parka weather.
It’s really tough to get revved up for the War On Christmas when it’s t-shirt weather outside. How am I supposed to get into the mood for denying the true meaning of Christmas and feigning outrage when people wish me a Merry Christmas when it’s 80-something degrees outside? I just can’t find the motivation to kill the joy of those who want to celebrate Christmas when I’m wondering where he sunscreen is.
Ah, well; so I’ll be getting a late start on collecting coal for the kids’ stockings this year. It’s just so hard to be my normal Christmas Curmudgeon self when the palm trees are waving gently in the warm tropical breezes.