By this time in the seasonal marathon, when your credit cards are smoking, your Blood Nog Level is over the legal limit and you would rather take a cyanide pill than one more trip to the mall, you shield your eyes from the glow of the gigantic inflatable snowman in the yard and think, "Is this really necessary?"

Shame on you. You deserve to wake up in the dark to the sound of rattling chains and steel drums as Marley's ghost stands beside your bed singing "No Woman, No Cry."

There was a time, right here in America, when Christmas was illegal. And it was outlawed not by godless hippie commie politically correct atheists but by God-fearing Christians who gave their kids names like Repentance and Thankful. Pull the tinsel out of the cat and settle in for a story.

In the early 1600s, Europe was in the throes of religious reform. The Reformation had started a century earlier, but it was still going, because once Protestants had realized how they were different from Catholics, they started coming up with ways to be different from each other.

Sometimes these differences involved Christmas and how it was celebrated. Or not. It made sending cards extremely tricky -- "Wishing you joy of the season, or a lot of solemn prayer, or just good luck with trying not to freeze to death, whichever you feel is appropriate. Here's a woodcut of the surviving kids."

Portraits from this time tend to show men in floppy black hats who look as if they have just realized they are going to have to walk all the way to the post office because someone has parked them in.

In the 1640s, the Puritans came to power in England, led by Oliver Cromwell. The Puritans got their name from their desire to "purify" the new Protestant Church of England by purging it of its lingering whiff of Catholicism (it smells like incense).

They also decided the throne needed to be purified by the removal of its occupant, King Charles I, and that Charles needed to be purified by the removal of his rakish mustache and pointy beard, along with the rest of his head.

But by then, a batch of Puritans so pure they thought Cromwell didn't take things far enough had already taken themselves off to the New World and were teaching the Indians about eminent domain.

The English had had enough of Puritan rule by 1661, when Charles II was restored to the throne and office Christmas parties improved dramatically. But there was still no Christmas in the colonies; in fact, the celebration of Christmas was actually against the law in Boston from 1659 to 1681. Seriously: The fine for public jolliness was five shillings.

"Good day to you, Unworthiness Dillingham. Ye north winde blowing across ye common putteth me in mind of ye torments of hell, and remindeth me to fear ye judgment of God. And how are you?"

"I am merry, Contrition Winthrop. Here, take these smalle walking sticks of candie to your goodwife and children. Hoe hoe hoe!"

"Mr. Dillingham! Cease this unseemly display of ye spirit! Know you not this is Boston, and ye wicked popish celebrations of holidayes and saints' dayes never shalle sully our faire citie?"

"I stand ashamed, good Mr. Winthrop. I go forthwith to ye magistrate to surrender myself and pay ye penaltie. Will you give me five shillings, sir, for this Andrew Williams Christmas album?"

(Meanwhile, in Jamestown, Va., the settlers there were much more relaxed about the holiday season. Capt. John Smith, if that was even his real name, dressed up as Santa, and he and the other colonists went sledding with the Indians. A good time was had by all, though Pocahontas was a little disappointed with her butter churn.)

For a long time, Christmas was considered too Catholic; then, after the Revolution, Christmas was considered too English. It wasn't declared a federal holiday until after the Civil War. There weren't TV specials for nearly a century after that.

So you see, Christmas as we know it, with a week off work and special extended store hours and Macy's elves and bell-ringers and clementines and Rockettes and drive-through light displays, is a relatively new thing. And as exhausting as it is, when it's all over, you can sit in the wrapping wreckage in the soft light of your new HDTV, brush the sugary crumbs off your hideous sweater and reflect on how truly lucky you are.

Your name isn't Increase.

Merry Christmas.