I knew it would be sometime in the summer. I just didn’t expect it to come so soon. August the 10th - a new record, and one that interrupted me quietly checking the temperatures for tomorrow’s heatwave, with the sight and sound of Sammy prancing about in the living the room to the incongruous warmth of ‘It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas…’
As I say, it’s a new record, but the Festive Excitement was heavily expected. My guess is that it started for her when she realised we still have some Christmassy bits halfway up the stairs that haven’t made it to the loft. This is undoubtedly my fault, so perhaps I have only myself to blame.
“Not much point in putting them away now I suppose…” she beamed the other day. She seemed delighted at my laziness, which I admit, was quite refreshing. I sighed, unsure of what to say. A lot of my life feels like that.
Now. I expect her subconscious has been whirring away ever since, slowly pulling her towards her favourite time of the year like an elf is to the workshop. Today she had photo memories on her phone - Christmases gone by, while Apple (yeah thanks Apple) picked the soundtrack.
It’s funny how differently we’re wired. For me, Christmas is special because it’s restricted to December. I worry that spreading out the excitement somehow dilutes the joy, and I like my joy neat. I don’t want to peak too early.
I do get it though - if something is wonderful, why not let it rush over you again and again? When it’s 31 degrees (and you can’t bear the heat), why not let yourself be thrilled by the thought of snowflakes and fairy lights, by sparkling ribbon and cola-roast ham?
So I don’t mind the FE (Festive Excitement) really. It’s kind of sweet. I just don’t want to join in with it - in August.
That’s fair enough isn’t it?
Well anyway. Happy FE-Day. Don’t drink your eggnog too quickly.
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