Black, defined as lacking hue and brightness, absorbing light without reflecting any of the rays composing it or – in this case – gloomy, pessimistic or dismal. And Friday, known across the nation as the sixth day of the week, payday, or – for you literature buffs – a character in Daniel Defoe’s “Robinson Crusoe.” Combined, however, those two words represent the most sinister and inherently wicked non-holiday ever conceived by humankind ... Black Friday.

Unless, of course, you’re referring to the Steely Dan song, a favorite of mine.

As for that blackest of Fridays – November 25 this year – I refuse to participate, no matter what’s on sale, who’s selling, where it’s being sold or – most importantly – when it’s going to be up for grabs. Not me, not ever ... no way.

In fact, this dastardly dose of stress – offered up slyly in the form of holiday shopping and the never-ending search for that elusive, perfect deal – is nothing more than capitalism (see greed) in its most innovative, yet clearly obvious, guise.

The worst part? People still fall for it ... year after year.