I'll transfer the balances to new credit cards with low introductory rates just like I did last year and then
apply for a bunch of new credit cards so if I'm really careful I can avoid paying for Christmas until Halloween of next year when I'll start shopping for next year's Christmas and hope a computer glitch wipes out all
the money I owe and I'll have it made in the shade. Ho, ho, ho.The other day one of my co-workers raised a very significant issue: Whatever happened to Thanksgiving? It seems to have evaporated somewhere between
those huge bags of Halloween candy and the plastic lawn reindeer. Once the true start of the holiday season, Thanksgiving's now just a blip on the calendar, a big meal that signifies the earliest acceptable date to slap
up a Christmas tree.
Actually, I knew the holiday season was in trouble back in July when I spent 15 minutes standing in line to make a purchase while being serenaded by an obnoxious singing Christmas tree. The little
green plastic cone tunelessly repeated Jingle Bells while rolling its eyes suggestively at passing shoppers. The girl at the register was very young and didn't seem to mind, but she was a teenager and accustomed to
pointless noise masquerading as entertainment.
Singing plastic is apparently a trend that's come of age. In addition to the trees and crooning wreaths, I also found a gigantic sunflower that warbled "You Are My
Sunshine" whenever someone came near. This supremely irritating flower was in the gift shop of a Cracker Barrel. Next to it stood a weary-looking young woman who admitted to me that she had been known to yank the
flower's cord whenever some genius (usually a person of less than 12 years) got the brilliant idea to set the flower off over and over without interruption. That's when, the Cracker Barrel lady told me through clenched
teeth, she yanked the blankety-blank cord out of the wall. And she showed me how she did it, pulling the plug on the rhapsodizing plant in mid-sunshine, causing it's little flowery head to droop and fall silent.
Triumphantly, she twirled the cord at me and smiled.
"If I had a gun, I'd blow that flower right into tomorrow," she said and threw a meaningful glance toward the register, where a ratty-looking tree was
quivering out a pretty terrible version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus", which isn't very good even when a person sings it, much less a synthetic evergreen.
You know, there's a lot to be said for
Thanksgiving. It doesn't cost a whole lot. There's nothing to wrap. And you don't have to spend the day listening to a fake plastic turkey sing. Maybe we should bring Thanksgiving back for another run. I know of at
least one person who'd be all for it and you can find her if you stop at the right Cracker Barrel.
