Before the holidays progress much further,
I must share a deep secret with all of you.
My sordid confession is that I hate, loathe,
and detest Christmas Carolers. The idea
that at any moment I might be attacked
at home by a group of musical meddlers
does NOT ring my bell. Music aside, their
gay apparel a la merry old England is just
as irritating. Isn't it time we finally Brexit
top hats, capes, and glowing faux lanterns?
Who knows when, where or how this
worrisome phenomena started. One
might assume that before the advent
of twentieth century electronics it was
considered quite delightful to have a
group of neighbors cackling at your
front door. Frankly I prefer to sit in
the quiet of my home and revel to the
beat of my own drummer (boy that is).
Who wants to bother their neighbors?
As a young tot we were required to sing
our guts out annually at a local nursing
home. What I recall is a blithe attempt
to usurp it's heat, smell, and pathos with
some holiday cheer. Yet it seemed that
we rarely got any recognition from the
old folks. In hindsight could it be that
they loathed listening to a posse of pre-
pubescent carolers? At their age all they
probably wanted was peace and quiet!
Before you think I'm some sort of modern
day Scrooge, I must confess that in truth
I adore Christmas carols. Little brings the
true reason for the season to life more than
those treasured tunes. In fact I'm such a
sucker that I can barely get to the chorus
of Silent Night without choking up. All of
which just proves that my issue is not the
music itself but rather those who publicly
warble away at innocent bystanders.
What bothers me the most is a group
of adults making fools of themselves.
Whereas nothing charms me like a
bevy of tiny tots struggling to hit the
high notes of Jingle Bells. While I
find their cacophony celebratory, I do
not find some odd baritone bellowing
on my doorstep anything more than
creepy. Can't they stay home and sip
spiked eggnog like we normal folks?!
To recap - I would prefer to not spend
my holidays hiding behind the blinds
in a darkened house in order to avoid
being assaulted by musical marauders.
If it's money that all of those singing
serenaders want, I will gladly pay my
share to guarantee the silent treatment.
All I ask is that rather than croon you
simply slip a bill under my door. I'll be
happy to mail some cash to insure that
I don't have to face the music. All that
I ask is that you be quiet when doing
so. And never darken my door again!
