I have a complaint.

I realize this is shocking coming from me, but hear me out: We are ruining the holidays.

And by “we,” I mean retailers, society and, unfortunately, me, because I am absolutely part of the problem.

Every year I complain that seasonal decorations are appearing earlier and earlier, and every year I apparently reward this behavior by buying them.

I walked into a store this summer — during the portion of the year when simply walking across a parking lot in Georgia feels like entering the gates of hell — and saw Christmas decorations.

Christmas.

I had sweat running down my back, the air conditioner in my car had barely recovered from the parking lot, and somewhere approximately 30 feet away from me was a decorative snowman.

Sir. You would not survive outside.

And before anyone thinks I’m about to launch into a “Christmas should not exist before Thanksgiving” tirade, let me be clear: I love Christmas. I love the decorations, the lights and the music. I love pulling out ornaments I’ve had for years and remembering where they came from.

I also, apparently, love buying Christmas decorations in August while simultaneously complaining that Christmas decorations are being sold in August.

It’s a complicated relationship.

The problem is that retailers have figured out people like me. They know exactly what they’re doing.

They put out some adorable little Christmas decoration four months early, and I think, “Well, I don’t need that right now.”

Then my brain immediately follows up with, “But what if it’s sold out by the time I decorate?”

And there it is: the panic.

Suddenly I am not a woman casually browsing a store in shorts and flip-flops in 96-degree weather. I am a woman facing the very real possibility that I could reach November and not have that particular Christmas ornament.

So obviously, I buy it.

Then November comes. I drag the Christmas tubs out, open one and find sitting inside essentially the exact same Christmas ornament I panic-bought three months earlier.

Sometimes it is not “essentially” the same. Sometimes it IS the same.

Apparently, August me and November me do not communicate.

August me says, “I don’t think we have one of these.” November me says, “We have three.”

This is what happens when you start selling seasonal merchandise before I’ve had a chance to look at the seasonal merchandise I already own.

And Christmas isn’t the only victim. Fall has apparently been reassigned to begin sometime around mid-July.

There are pumpkins on store shelves while it’s still 97 degrees outside. There are fuzzy blankets embroidered with leaves, pumpkin candles, ceramic ghosts and signs telling me it’s “sweater weather.”

It is absolutely not sweater weather. It is “don’t let the backs of your legs touch a leather car seat” weather.

I love fall. In fact, I think part of the reason Southerners love fall so much is because we have earned it.

We have survived June. We have survived July. We have survived August, a month that exists solely to test our commitment to living here.

That first morning when you walk outside and the air feels just a little different is supposed to mean something.

It’s not actually cold. It may be 62 degrees, and by lunchtime it will probably be 84.

Doesn’t matter. We will put on a sweatshirt, drink something pumpkin flavored and light a fall-scented candle. We will behave as though frost is imminent.

Because fall is finally here.

Except now we’ve already been looking at pumpkins for two months.

And then there’s Thanksgiving. Poor Thanksgiving.

Thanksgiving doesn’t even really get a retail season anymore. Halloween gets aisles of skeletons, ghosts, pumpkins and enough outdoor decorations to make your front yard look like a haunted theme park. Christmas gets approximately 74 percent of the store.

Thanksgiving gets a turkey, maybe a wooden sign that says “Grateful,” possibly a pilgrim if the store is feeling nostalgic.

That’s about it.

It has basically become the hallway between Halloween and Christmas. By Nov. 1, the skeletons are marked 50 percent off, and Santa has assumed control of the premises.

It’s a shame, because Thanksgiving is actually one of the holidays I don’t mind stretching out a little. There’s food, family and football. Nobody expects presents. Its primary activity is eating an unreasonable amount of carbohydrates in the middle of the afternoon and then sitting down.

Frankly, it deserves better representation.

But really, my issue isn’t that I hate seeing Christmas. It’s that I miss the anticipation.

I remember when seeing Christmas decorations in stores actually meant Christmas was coming. When the lights started appearing on houses, it felt different. When the decorations came out, it felt different. When the Christmas music started playing, it felt different.

There was a build-up.

Now, by the time Christmas actually arrives, I’ve been visually immersed in it for approximately one-third of the calendar year. There is no anticipation when the thing you’re anticipating has been sitting on aisle 12 since you were buying sunscreen.

And maybe that’s what bothers me.

We’re so eager to get to the next thing that we don’t let ourselves enjoy the thing we’re actually in.

We don’t wait for fall anymore; we start manufacturing it in July. We don’t let Halloween finish before Christmas starts moving in. Thanksgiving barely gets to unpack.

And by December, when I actually want the lights and trees and Christmas music and all the tacky decorations I’ve accumulated over the years, I’ve already been looking at them for months.

Christmas decor in August doesn’t make Christmas last longer; it just makes the arrival of Christmas feel a little less like an arrival.

Sometimes, waiting is part of the magic.

Maybe that first pumpkin should show up when there’s at least a reasonable chance I can walk through a parking lot without getting a third-degree burn from my seatbelt buckle. Maybe Frosty shouldn’t appear until the temperature outside is low enough that he could theoretically survive for more than 11 seconds.

And maybe I shouldn’t be able to buy Christmas decorations until I’ve had an opportunity to inventory the Christmas decorations I already own.

Actually, let’s start there.

Because retailers may be responsible for putting Christmas on the shelves in August. But nobody forced me to buy that Christmas ornament.

Twice.