The Happiest Time of Year

It seems unavoidable: Christmas is coming. Every year, a day or two after the Thanksgiving holiday (often before the leftover turkey has been made into one final meal) the wreaths and garland and terrible songs seem to ooze out of every house and business and office building. I try my best to distance myself from these reminders of happy times and human kindness.
Yet, every year, I am confronted with a sad, but obvious truth: there is no ignoring Christmas. From gift-buying to carol-singing to tree-decorating, the holiday pervades every portion of one's life. Walking along 5th Avenue in Brooklyn, I see at least a dozen Christmasy decorations and displays. While at work, the number is even higher.
The worst part of it all, the music, seems to come earlier and earlier every year. I can handle the bows and garish decorations, but the music is just too much to bear. I think it highly unfair to subject perfectly innocent people to Alvin and the Chipmunks singing about their favorite holiday. In the lobby of the building where I work, the music has been going (non-stop) since Monday. I only have to deal with it a few times a day, and that is plenty. I feel terribly sorry for the poor sons of bitches who stand sentry at the guard desk and have to endure the tunes for 8 or 9 hours a day. I think it might drive me to kill. Or at least maim.
This all being said, I do like Christmas and consider it my favorite holiday. It's the month long build-up to the holiday that bothers me and makes my blood boil. But I will persevere, lowering my head and walking swiftly from place to place in order to avoid the constant affront. And when approached with a "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" I will kindly smile, say nothing, and think about the bruised-purple color a person's face turns when strangled with a string of Christmas lights.