I’m currently in Michigan. As a native, I can’t help but be assaulted by memories both good and bad, and by the Great Lake State’s many noteworthy attractions. One of these draws is Frankenmuth, a town where it’s Christmas 365 days a year. At least that’s what it’s known for. Hailed as Michigan’s Little Bavaria and THE place to pick up a new pair of lederhosen, I always word-associate it with frankincense, one of the Three Wise Men’s housewarming gifts.
But it’s Bronner’s (and its kissing cousins) that is the real Christmas culprit. This is the world’s largest Christmas shop(pe), guaranteed to bring out my inner hyperglycemic. I can taste the candy cane just thinking about the flocking, the commemorative glass ornaments, the Santa suits, and—sweet baby Jesus—the outdoor inflatables, lights, and holiday decor. Much like year-round Christmas decorations, these stores need to be packed up and stored somewhere out of my sight for 10 or 11 months of the year. I'm not a complete humbug hosebag. Come November, I'm happy to have Santa Clause come to town. But for the rest of the year, there’s no room at this inn for these not-so-little shops of holiday horrors.
If you continue to flaunt their bubble lights and Christopher Radko ornaments in July, I'm going to transform all of your Santa suits into sexy devil costumes for Halloween and sneak into your shop(pe) after hours and plug in every single indoor and outdoor strand of Christmas lights. If I don't take out a city grid, expect a massive electricity bill. It's my present to you, because I'm thoughtful that way.