This year I almost bit (it).

And I'm kinda embarrassed.

Thanksgiving is a day I like to spend reflecting on what I am grateful for in my life -- a whole lot--and, duh, eating. Instead, I came outstandingly close to gobbling my dinner, leaving the dishes piled up in the sink and hightailing it to the nearest Connecticut big box, to wait outside for hours, like a loser, in a Black Friday line.

At 6pm on Thanksgiving Thursday.

'Cause all of that just really screams me.

Trust. I'm not in need of holiday gifts. I've already said, thanks, but no thanks, to the sad hyped up machine o' consumerism that brings Christmas to a retail outlet near you 'round September. I was in need of something way bigger.

A new TV.

Our current viewing situation? Literally, a 'tube'. Stop laughing. We had the outstanding good fortune of replacing our hardware just as prices came down on HD units. Remember the days when they used to cost close to a grand? Me too.

But now we're ten years out. With a 27 incher that refuses to bite the big one. Truth be told, we'd probably continue to suck it up, if involuntary picture cropping hadn't become part of our reality. Never witnessed this phenomenon? Few have been so lucky.

The skinny: Apparently, since 2009, the 16:9 aspect ratio has reigned supreme as the measurement of choice around the world for HDTV programming. Our boob tube? Not exactly wide screen friendly. Consequently, we're clearly missing some info with our viewing. How much? No one knows for sure. And that joke has gotten old.

So when I heard, recently, that Black Friday circulars were available on-line for my browsing pleasure, nearly two weeks before the big event, I decided to check out the options. You know. Research and all.

And, indeed, there I saw it. A 32-inch HDTV advertised for less than a Benjamin. Granted, I had never heard of the name brand. Ever. But with a price so low that we could even pay cash, I thought about going to check that bad boy out in person.

Until I abruptly returned to my senses.

It was the actual Black Friday theme song on the site that irritated me first. (Seriously AC/DC? Did you really just sell out like this.) And then I methodically started the calculations: How many hours would I have to stand outside? In the Northeast chill? I estimated four. Which, depending on the weather could quickly feel like eight (teen).

What time would I have to eat dinner? Around noon. Or 8 PM, if I still had an appetite.

And the big one: Why in the hell was I doing this to myself?

I'm a shopper. A good one. I know the actual price of things, as well as the value. That, ladies and gentlemen, is the real key. So I started investigating the specs of this TV to even see if it was really worth it. That'd be a negative. The resolution wasn't up to par, nor was it a Smart TV. I browse on.

The truth of the matter? No matter what lies you're telling to yourself, I don't think Black Friday is about shopping at all. The internet provides amazing opportunities, with coupon codes AND free shipping. No one stands out in the cold, or gets trampled, and you can save a huge amount of cake.

In fact, I'd go as far to argue that Black Friday is all about frantic fake anticipation--best served to the millions of people who don't have any means to generate excitement in their daily lives--by big business. A Sisterhood of Shopping if you will, that every single year, millions of already cash strapped people fall for.

Hate on me if you want, but I know Black Friday is all about living on the edge, for those who never take the opportunity in their everyday lives. It's about doing something crazy, like waiting in line while it's still dark and rest of the world is asleep. It's about the adrenaline that comes from rushing inside after the doors are unlocked. Like a way sadder Running With The Bulls--only the prize is an overloaded bin of $1 fleece scarves.

I don't want any part of that. Ever, but especially this year, as Black Friday blurs into Turkey Thursday and more givens, like the once simple concept that everyone, even minimum waged retail workers, could enjoy a whole day of rest with their families, get eroded by greed.

This Thanksgiving, I am outstandingly thankful to live in Rhode Island, where our blue laws restrict retail store openings on Thanksgiving and Christmas. (Yay to you Massachusetts and Maine for also continuing the tradition.) Because these so called bargains? They're costing all of us way way more than you even realize.

Welcome to November 1st--otherwise known as only 54 shopping days until Christmas.

When did this become our starting point? Or more importantly, how do we make it end?

For me, the gig is finally up. Yup. 2012 marks the official start of our no presents policy. No holiday gifts. No birthday gifts. BAM! There are a few exceptions to the rule. Little ones. Secret Santa, but that's about it. I know you're secretly jealous.

I tried, unsuccessfully, to address the issue a few years back. But I wasn't as strong in my convictions. It took a bit more soul searching--and needling from my husband who prodded with, "Well, you could just keep being a follower..." to put me in a brave(r) place. (Attacks on my personal character, even tongue-in-cheek, never fail to motivate.)

The problem for me? The complicated politicizing of presents, that goes way beyond massive consumerism. I'm a communicator. And a relationships girl. I like the connections fostered with others. I enjoy learning about people. Their passions, dreams. What makes them tick. Really listening to what they're saying. And I value the experiences shared with the folks in my life, way over stuff.

To me, gift giving is extension of that day-to-day connection, not some sort of obligation or, worse, a replacement for it. In its purest form, A present should say: This made me think of you. Or: I thought you would enjoy this. Period. End of story. There's no ill will behind true gift giving. No one-upmanship. No competition. It should be a simple, joyful act, to give and receive.

But when presents go rote obligation, as dictated by our society and the National Retail Federation, the communications behind them get a whole lot more complicated. Instead of buying something because you want to, you do it because you have to, cursing those hard-to-buy-for peeps on your list. But the greater truth, here, is completely ignored. The real reason they're hard to buy for is because you don't know them.

At all.

And granted, it's easy to just continue the cycle. Same as it ever was. You could follow the template, placating yourself with the tired mantra: It's the thought that counts. And maybe it is, as long as you're counting the real thought: I grabbed this right before I got to the check-out, so I could check you off the list.

And really, how is this good for anyone?

When Andre started a new job just weeks before last Christmas, and small gifts began appearing on his desk, he was faced with the dilemma of what to get his co-workers. I made the really bold suggestion that maybe it should be nothing. Maybe he could opt out of the stuff, with a personalized card, telling each co-worker how they helped him transition into his new position. It was a hit.

None of this should be revolutionary stuff.

But unfortunately it all is.