This year I'm skipping Thanksgiving, as you can plainly see. There's nothing tasty about a turkey without a Christmas tree. Cranberry sauce, although it's red, should never make the scene, without the lights and tinsel, hung on an evergreen.
Thanksgiving's not a holiday meant to enjoy so much. Who needs to travel 200 miles for an overrated lunch? In haste, to get us there on time, my spouse breaks traffic laws. One whiff of Aunt Sarah's formaldehyde perfume ... (phew) ... I'd rather kiss old Claus.
This year, I'm skipping Thanksgiving. Who needs a thankful day? It lacks the special feeling of a one-horse-open-sleigh. I'm staying home and counting down to when St. Nick arrives. My wreaths are up, my stockings hung, inflated elves bob in the drive.
What is stuffing without candy canes; what is football with out the gifts? I believe I will sit down right now and make my Christmas list. The merchants have me anxious to find my Christmas spirit. I have no time for Thanksgiving, so BOO to it. Let's hear it!
The speed bump to the holidays won't foil me, not this year, because I'm skipping Thanksgiving, to warm my Christmas cheer. I'm turning on the carols and draping simulated ice. I don't care if you think it's naughty, 'cause it's really kind of nice.
Thanksgiving has no magic, no nativity, no creche. Mostly, it has relatives who come and make a mess. Thanksgiving has no bling-bling, no bobbles, no pizzazz. It lacks all the miracles that only Christmas has.
So what if those pilgrims braved an ocean full of storms, and landed in the New World, where they learned to grow some corn? When they had that little feast of the spoils of hunts and fishing, they surely had no clue what they were really missing.
The peppermint and chocolate, the presents and the loot, an old guy with a beard dressed in a Santa suit. The joy, the bliss, the harmony that peace on earth can bring, the children in a yuletide play wearing angel wings.
For sure, I'm skipping Thanksgiving to find my holiday sweaters. One can never be over-prepared for the brisk December weather. And I think that while I'm at it, I'll skip the rest of Fall, and get directly to the business of decking out the halls.
I need to hark the herald, not hear the turkey call. I want to see the shepherds and the infant in the stall. While you're stuck in Thanksgiving traffic, hypnotized by the road, I'll be thinking of good tidings underneath the mistletoe.
I'm going to buy my Christmas tree, while the selection is still good. I'll strap it to the luggage rack and secure it to the hood. And if it dies before the big day, no need to delay the saint. There's nothing that can't be fixed with duct tape and green paint.
All the advertisements assure us, and I know it to be true, Christmas trumps old Thanksgiving, by ten lumps of coal times two. We should have been out shopping the night of Halloween, and then deleted from our calendars this month that comes between.
Indians, bless their hearts, should not have been so civil. Those Europeans would've rowed back east and the tables would be swiveled. And we'd be in the homeland not bothering with this blip, if some people had had the foresight not to brave it on a ship.
But for now I guess we're stuck with it, if only for a day. But this year I'm skipping Thanksgiving, I'm wishing it away. And if that pesky turkey day will not fly the coop, I'll cover it in twinkling lights, and pretend it's Christmas, too.
(Lucy Adams is a syndicated columnist and author of If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny. If what you've read boils in your head and causes you to spasm, rest assured that every word, she gilded with sarcasm. Contact Lucy at firstname.lastname@example.org.)