Never mind wearing white after Labour Day—if only it were so simple as stowing away those boat shoes and halter-tops. We’re far past the first weekend in September, and if you want to wear white, go ahead, fill your boots. Today’s battles aren’t nearly so frivolous as a fashion faux pas.

If I’m wrestling my mind back into the realm of academia, the soundtrack to an afternoon labeling school supplies should not be “The Monster Mash.” Let me have those last hazy days of summer. Please. And if you try to put pumpkin spice in my latte—or in anything for that matter—I’ll be throwing it to the ground.

My white capris are still hanging in the closet, but school supplies are crowded on Costco’s shelves to make room for flying witches and ghosts that hang from the ceiling. Never mind that I’m not ready to start thinking about falling leaves and bonfires—what am I supposed to do with the candy treats that line the shelves? Like I’m leaving the store without a sack of mini Mars Bars under my arm? Those things won’t make it to next Tuesday, let alone Halloween. And they knew it when they put them there. They knew we’d be powerless to resist. See, it’s just too early.

Once we start ordering our free-range, happy, hormone-free turkeys, I’m okay with double-teaming the lead up to Thanksgiving with Halloween. They both involve crisp leaves and a lot of orange, not to mention bounty, and I can live with that.

So I’m out buying candy (again) and there’s a flash of red on my cashier’s lapel—a poppy. But it’s just too early. If we’re still waiting on Halloween, put those poppies away. These days, we can scarcely clear one holiday or observance before we’re plunged face first into the next. I respect the brave men and women whose sacrifices make our freedom possible, but can I please catch a breath before weaving that damn little sticky pin into my lapel? By November 2 or 3, even if I’m still pulling cobwebs out of my front bushes, I’ll happily put that poppy on (though it’s guaranteed I’ll need at least three replacements before The Day. No matter, it’s all for the veterans).

Which leads to the outrage du jour—Christmas before Remembrance Day. I firmly believe that Remembrance Day should pass before the carols hit the stores’ speakers. It’s just too soon. It’s an ultimate expression of tacky to start stringing lights before we’ve observed that moment of silence: 11 11 11. So yes, there’s an element of “the respect argument,” but, truthfully, I’m more selfish than that. I’m tired. I’m just plain tuckered out. For the love of Pete, keep Chris Kringle in the closet. Can I catch a break before beginning the long rev up to The Holiday of the Year? It’s just too early. It’s all so exhausting. But it’s even worse than that these days, because Chris seems to have trouble keeping his shirt on even in the face of Halloween these days.

Even once we’ve crossed into The Genuine Christmas Season, that isn’t good enough. We’re inundated by Boxing Day Sale ads. In the midst of the spirit of giving, they won’t let us forget that the best part comes after that—the spirit of giving to ourselves on December 26. Then, in the midst of Christmas and Boxing Day preparations, that baby’s out of the box—that damn New Year’s baby. I’m still eating jam tarts and they start crooning “Auld Lang Syne” at us. It’s just too soon. That champagne flute, well, that’s getting thrown to the ground, too.

Welcome January. For a while, we’re in the clear so we can pay down our credit cards and concentrate on getting the date right on our correspondence and assignments. Then February comes, with Valentine’s and Family Day. Don’t blink, though, because just when you think you’re out of the woods, you find that Bunny is hop-hop-hopping right behind you. We’re still searching for snowdrops, but the wait for those damn delicious cream eggs is over, dangerously early, in fact. It’s just too soon.