This morning I took a cab to the Houston airport. I was intent on catching up on email as I rode, but something kept nagging at me as I read and deleted. It was lurking just below the level of conscious thought.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Are those Christmas carols you’re playing on the radio?”
“Yeah, mon,” the cabbie said, with a grin. “The station started playing them because it’s almost Christmas.” Then he turned up the sound, mistaking my question for a request for more volume.
And so, on the day before Thanksgiving, I was treated to Willie Nelson’s rendition of Frosty the Snowman as I rode toward Terminal A. I’m not a Willie Nelson fan, and Frosty the Snowman is right up there with Do You Hear What I Hear? as one of the worst holiday songs ever written. Now I have another reason to wish people would wait until after Thanksgiving to start with the annual Christmas bombardment.