“I’m so out, I’m in!” my co-worker proudly announced as he flipped through a Rolling Stone magazine.

I was in my early 20s, and my fellow employee, Rick, was in his mid-30s. He had come of age in the 1970s and, apparently, he had enjoyed that time in his life so much that he refused to let it go.

He stubbornly continued to wear bell-bottom jeans right through the skinny-jeans ’80s with no obvious regret. Now it was the ’90s, and he was delighted to find that bells were back. Platform shoes, too. Instead of looking like a creepy throw-back, he was retro-cool. All it took was a decade.

Last night my husband walked in the door, our dogs in tow. “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas!” he bellowed as he hung his coat in the hall closet.

“Are you saying that because it’s cold outside?” I called from the couch.

“No, I’m saying that because there’s a wreath on our front door and our tree is still up,” he answered, laughing.

Oh, yeah.

Good thing we got that fake tree three years ago. It’s well into spring, but it’s still Christmas in our foyer. I guess it’s just been one of those years. We almost put it all away a couple of times, but some last-minute emergency always seems to thwart our plans. At this point, I’m considering just letting it ride.

Last year, it seemed like the stores put Christmas decorations up even before Halloween. I mean, in a couple of months we might look like we’re just getting a jump-start on the holidays. You know, so out, we’re in.