Help! There's a silly Christmas song stuck in my head and it's trying to get out!

From this morning's Quick Takes column in the Chicago Sun-Times:

News Item: British Union of Shop, Distributive and Allied Workers threatens action against the "psychological effects" of the "unhealthy work environment" of stores where "incessant Christmas music" is played.

As I read this on the train this morning, another "War Against Christmas" rant started percolating in the gray matter... and then... I realized... the union might just have a point.

In most American cities, one radio station switches to all Christmas music, all the time, during the run-up to Christmas. In Chicago, that station has been WLIT FM 93.9, usually a soft rock station that plays in a lot of dental offices.

This year, WLIT switched to the Christmas format in mid-November.

Long Suffering Spouse has been listening to the station quite a bit in the last couple of days as the cookie making continues. We have hours and hours of Christmas music stored on the computer -- with no duplicate performances -- but the computer is in the den. We can turn the music up loud enough that it can be heard in the kitchen. But not when there are collegians in the den.

And when the collegians are in the den, there is no music. Unless it's music associated with a video game. Or during a commercial break in a sporting event.

So Long Suffering Spouse has been listening to the radio. Instead of a playlist that lasts 38 hours and no commercials, she hears maybe 38 songs. The same 38 songs. Over and over again.

Please don't get me wrong. I am second to none in my admiration for Bing Crosby.

But after hearing der Bingle ask "Do You Hear What I Hear?" for the 87th time I just want to scream, "Yes, yes, YES, already, I hear it!"

And when Brenda Lee is rockin' around the Christmas tree for the 902nd time, I begin to wish it would fall on her.

Or at least that she'd go get that pumpkin pie she's been singing about and do some caroling... somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

In fact, last night, as we were closing down the assembly line, Long Suffering Spouse mentioned the repetitive playlist on the radio.

Now it was late and I was tired. I certainly didn't do this on purpose. But something popped into my head.

"At least," I said, "they don't play Dominic the Donkey all the time."

"Which one?" LSS asked. It was an innocent mistake -- but now the song was in my head. I began to sing....

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominic the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

"Oh, that one," LSS said. "They did play that once."

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominic the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

"You can stop singing now," she said.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it, too, "but it's in my head."

"I'm sure a lot of things are in your head," she said. "Keep this there, too."

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominic the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

"You really have to stop this," she said.

"I know," I said.

We were going upstairs. The lights were off on the main floor. The collegians, of course, were still down in the basement, playing video games. They only sleep during the day.

We were were walking up the stairs.

la la la-la la-la la la la la
la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da

"You can stay downstairs if you're going to do that," Long Suffering Spouse said to me, and she sounded sincere.

I followed in outward silence. Still in my head though....

Hey! Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
It's Dominic the donkey.
Chingedy ching,
(hee-haw, hee-haw)
The Italian Christmas donkey.
(la la la-la la-la la la la la)
(la la la-la la-la la-ee-oh-da)

And you can listen to Dominic the Donkey by clicking on the link. Then the song will be in your head, too.

Don't say you weren't warned.