I was so close. For the last couple of years I have celebrated making it all the way to Christmas without being subjected to any Christmas music. I know being so hostile to the mewling tunes of this joyful season makes me an easy target for people wanting to call me a misanthropic grinch. Fuck that. It's only that I am willing to say out loud what everyone else is thinking.
This year seemed to be shaping up for yet another Xmas uninfested by Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed-Reindeer and the like. Since I pretty much go nowhere except my bathroom and Peet's Cafe (and they have totally gotten on board the no Christmas music train) I felt safe, foolishly safe. I would just slide through what Jon, from Give Em the Old Razzle Dazzle, calls the festering season without my ears being punished.
And then I had to go see my doctor. What was waiting for me there? Guess. I opened their door and was confronted with Andy Williams, Perry Como, and Nat King Cole crooning fucking carols. And not just any carols, but the insipid, saccharin version.
Ugh, this is already been a difficult year. I should have known.
Guys to soothe your holiday battered earholes: