It’s not even December.

I’m still noshing on Thanksgiving Day leftovers.

But in recent days I’ve already heard every Christmas standard ever recorded.

Multiple times.

And, as a Floridian, no matter how sonorous Big Crosby sounds singing it, I laugh at the idea of a white Christmas.

Same goes for finding Frosty the Snowman, a winter wonderland or Jack Frost nipping at my nose.

While I’m griping, the little drummer boy makes me sad.

So does the way all the other reindeer treat poor Rudolph.

Then there’s the man with all the toys.

Santa Claus seeing me sleeping?

That’s a bit creepy.

So is the idea of mommy kissing him.

And what’s up with giving your true love nine ladies dancing, eight maids a milking and a partridge in a pear tree?

What is a partridge even doing in a pear tree?

But of all the songs played ad nauseam this time of year, none is more disturbing than “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”

Especially when done as a duet.

Which is how it’s meant to be performed.

Broadway songwriting great Frank Loesser (“Guys and Dolls,” “How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying”) penned the song about predator and prey.

If you believe Wikipedia, and on this I do, the lyrics are designed to be heard as a conversation between two people, marked as “mouse” and “wolf” on the printed score.

Take a wild guess which role the male plays?

“Baby, It’s Cold Outside” first appeared in the 1949 musical movie “Neptune’s Daughter.”

Loesser collected an Academy Award for his dirty ditty.

That same year the song became a hit for Dinah Shore and Buddy Clark.

It hasn’t left the airwaves since.

Last year, thanks to the TV show “Glee,” “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” sullied the minds of a whole new generation.

Am I the only person appalled by a tune about an older guy trying to get a girl drunk so she’ll stay the night?

Sample lyrics:

Her: “My mother will start to worry.”

Him: “Beautiful, what’s your hurry?”

Her: “But maybe just a half a drink more.”

Him: “Put some records on while I pour.”

Her: “Say, what’s in this drink?”

Him: “No cabs to be had out there.”

Her: “I ought to say ‘no, no, no, sir.’ ”

Him: “Mind if I move in closer?”

Her: “At least I’m gonna say that I tried.”

Him: “What’s the sense in hurting my pride?”

Her: “I really can’t stay.”

Him: “Oh, baby don’t hold out.”

Sorry, there’s nothing even remotely romantic about that song.

It might even be condoning criminal behavior.

Apologies for being a downer.

But that song needed to be outed.

It’s filthy.

Well, time to return to my turkey leg.

And cleanse my ears (and soul) with the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s joyously jazzy, icky-free soundtrack to “A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

Wade Tatangelo, features writer/columnist, can be reached at 941-745-7057. Visit heraldbuzzworthy.blogspot.com.