Look, I'm just gonna say it. October 15th (or, let's be honest, August 15th in some stores) is the official start of the holiday season. The air is starting to get that crisp, "oh my god, is that a pumpkin spice scent wafting from a store I'm not even near?" kind of chill. And while part of me is ready to embrace the cozy sweaters and the socially acceptable consumption of an entire wheel of brie, another part of me is already running a frantic mental marathon.
It’s like the universe collectively decides that from now until January 1st, your life is going to be a high-stakes competitive sport.
First, there's the wardrobe transition. The summer clothes get shoved into a dark corner, banished until the next heatwave. And in their place? The sweaters. You dig them out, and they all look slightly… wrong. One is too scratchy. Another is that perfect shade of mustard yellow that makes you look medically jaundiced. And then there's The Festive Sweater, a relic of a past Christmas party where you swore you wouldn't wear blinking lights again. But you will. Oh, you will. Because the holidays demand a certain level of self-inflicted fashion humiliation.
And finally, the food. Specifically, the peppermint. Peppermint is the holiday season's glitter: once it gets into your life, you can never truly get rid of it. It starts innocently enough—a peppermint mocha. Fine. Delicious. Then it escalates. Peppermint-flavored Oreos. Peppermint bark. Peppermint ice cream. Peppermint hand soap. I'm pretty sure I saw a car with peppermint-scented tires the other day.
It's a full-on conspiracy. They lull you into a sugary, minty false sense of security, and before you know it, your entire existence smells faintly of a candy cane that someone accidentally dropped in a pine forest.
So, as we collectively hurtle toward the most wonderful, exhausting, and peppermint-saturated time of the year, take a deep breath. Try to enjoy the chaos. Remember that it's perfectly okay to say "no" to a party (especially the one with no cheese), and that Amazon Prime is a perfectly acceptable place to acquire a gift for your cousin's dog.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go try on 17 different sweaters and decide which level of jaundiced I'm aiming for this year.
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