Please note the date. It is the 20th day of the first month of the year 2013.
This means a great many things to a myriad of people all over the planet. It's the dawn of fresh era. A moment in time when we're finally adjusting to the passage of that "Auld Lang Syne."
This is a tipping point at which we're all finally replacing those 12s with 13s on school papers, work reports, personal and business checks et al.
We're well into the first part of the first quarter of the New Year. We're halfway to spring. Knee deep into ski season. We're darned close to Groundhog's Day, for heaven's sake.
But the calendar is telling us all something far more significant this fine Sunday, my friends.
It is saying ... no, it is screaming - pleading, really - TAKE DOWN YOUR CHRISTMAS DECORATIONS, ALREADY!
Look, no one is sadder than I to admit that it's over. I weep for the fact that there are no more excuses to go shopping at 5 a.m. nor reasonable justifications to eat cookie dough in the middle of the night on a Tuesday - no more opportunities to wear insanely hideous sweaters out in public.
But face it, people, it's gone ... past ... kaput ... finito. It is time, good neighbors, to deflate the oversized Santas, darken the strings of technicolor lights and roll the wreaths back up the attic stairs.
For the love of all that is holy (literally), I am begging you to let go. Reign in the deer, dump some boiling water on Frosty, and step away from the ledge. Actually, don't do that until after you've removed all the green bulbs and red tinsel from the roof, okay? THEN step away from the ledge.
Because I can't take it anymore. If I drive through that certain neighborhood in Liberty one more time and see that animatronic little drummer boy still pounding away on the skins, I'm going to call Children Services on you. I mean it. You know who you are - and you're toast.
Seriously, I gave you some leeway right up through last Sunday. It was the last official day of the Christmas season - the celebration of the presentation of Jesus in the Temple.
Heck, we were even still singing "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing" a week ago. So, OK, up until last Sunday - fine. Kind of on the tardy side, but still acceptable.
But now? Um, ridiculous. I mean, it was like 70 degrees Fahrenheit last Sunday - perfect weather by which to de-deck halls. No more excuses. Three strikes, people.
"What kind of lunatic clings to Christmas by this late date anyway?" I could be heard commenting just as Kerry picked up the cover to my "Peanuts Christmas" jazz music CD.
"Uh, looks like I married one " said my husband as he called me out on still listening to said tunes just, you know, this morning, actually.
That's different. It's just music, and I only ever got it as a present so I couldn't listen prior to the holidays, and I just like the spirit of cheer and goodwill and kindness it gives me as I'm driving down the road on a gray Monday morning
Oh, fine whatever. I'm a lunatic.
Sheesh, you don't have to make a big deal of it. OK, drummer boy people. You win this time.
But if we are still having this conversation on St. Patrick's Day, I'll be taking the wee one hostage until next November.
Kimerer is a Tribune Chronicle columnist and Christmas music hanger-on-er. Contact her with your favorite carol lyrics at firstname.lastname@example.org.