True Christmas confessions: I’m very laid back about many things holiday, but I’m kind of particular when it comes to cardage. Somehow, I developed the formula that the cards we send must have either animals or Jesus on them, (bonus points for Jesus AND animals), and even with no Jesus, they must have some religious reference. A time or two we went with the kid pic, but only when she was dressed as an angel or Virgin Mary for some pageant. Often, LG made our cards, and she stuck to the official Fairchild card guidelines. This year, I’ve run amok. I didn’t feel like reminding LG incessantly about getting our cards done. I didn’t want added stress for either of us, we have enough. So we were in a card store, and Jif, LG and I all agreed that we liked a card with penguins on it. Penguins. And not only is Jesus not in sight, but this isn’t even a “Christmas” card, strictly speaking. It refers to the “holiday season,” if memory serves. I’ll plaster Jesus stickers all over the outside, just to appease the angel on my shoulder.
Now that I’ve confessed my Christmas sin, allow me to move on to judging others:
If you are SO busy, and have SO many friends that your entire Christmas card enterprise consists of inserting a pre-printed card, including pre-printed family signature, into an envelope with a computer-generated label and a postal indicia from your place of employment, allow me to give you the gift of a few seconds of time. Clearly, you have no time. Take me off your list and save those few seconds of inserting.
I’m not asking for much. Pre-print everything else, but just sign it, for Prancer’s sake! Just a “Love, Trevor, Esmeralda and the twins,” would be great. Or a handwritten initial, if that’s all you can manage. Just something that says, “your personal name passed in front of my eyes and I thought of you warmly for a second or two as I sent you this card.” If your schedule doesn’t allow for that, cut back. Start with me. Let that be my gift to you.
(I blame WTF. I used to be a nice person, honest I did. Or at least I could fake it a lot more convincingly.)
So what’s your Christmas bitch? And you can’t say me, I’m taken.