The first Christmas Card arrived over the weekend from a former student of my husband. Three photos on a card. Children. Lovely girls. No personal greeting. No signature.
Why the hell bother.
so . . .
Again. Word for word, is last years post.
If I am on your Christmas Card list, I'm delighted. Whether you are a friend, an acquaintance, or merely someone who has repaired my furnace or cleaned my teeth, it doesn't matter. I love a card. I like those cards to be cute, glittery, gorgeous, filled with confetti, festooned with ribbon, city stylized, kissing kousin kountry, red and green, blue and white, black and yellow, and decorated with Jesus, snowmen, zebras, angels, trees, RVs, balls, bells, and whistles.
I also will read your newsletter. If you care to send me the long form, I will happily read it because, chances are, I care. And I really like it when you tuck in a photo of your kids, your dogs or your vacation home. Especially the kid. If I like you, then I probably like your kid. I even want to know if they've made the honor roll or graduated from braces and headgear.
Just please, please, please don't send that one-sided, unsigned, undecorated photo of your dog, kid, or vacation home that poses as a complete holiday card. And when you print out the envelope on your computer and your housekeeper then stuffs all of the envelopes, I'm going to want to tell you to stuff it. Put a bit of ink on the damn thing or don't send it. I'd rather you send me a picture on facebook of your middle finger. At least that's personal.
and so on
So this is a thing that exists
2 hours ago