Seven days to go 'til the Big Day. Tottering dangerously close to the edge of pain threshold.
It's not the shopping. Not the wrapping, baking, planning, mailing. Not the nearly impossible search for places to hide gifts from Santa.
It's the music.
I love holiday music. Love it. When I say I love it, I mean every rendition of Sleigh Ride. All the chestnuts roasting on all the open fires.
Luther. Harry. Dean. Wham!.
All the silken-voiced divas, those mistresses of Mr. Claus, purring their way to rings and duplexes. I love them all.
Except somehow, this year, I find myself...getting a bit...sick of them.
I must be coming down with something. This is completely unheard of. And wrong.
It's just wrong.
With one week to go, it's much too late to walk away. So will keep decking the halls, jingling the bells, whatever it takes to make it through to the other side.
Going back in...cover me.
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