I Haven’t Sent Christmas Cards In A While — And You’re Not Getting One This Year Either

I am not a zealot. I do not devote the integral year to dream of boodle plums and scouring hobby stores to store up on leftover garland and sorry-looking boughs of holly. I don ’ thymine concern when “ It ’ s a fantastic Life ” will be on one of the major networks again, and I ’ m surely going to avoid any Nutcracker-ness for arsenic farseeing as I can. I don ’ thymine post gay Santa memes that count down the days until Jesus ’ s future birthday. From December 26 until the next year ’ mho December, I spend pretty much no time thinking about Christmas itself. however, I spend a full 12 months stressing and obsessing about Christmas cards. I have never, in my wholly life, successfully addressed, stamped, and sent a complete batch of Christmas cards. I sometimes get no further than taking a picture of the boys. sometimes, I get arsenic far as having 100 cards or therefore printed up with their names, ages, and some appropriate vacation greet. other times, I do all the footwork and flush stuff and address the envelopes. At some orient in the action, though, my efforts are always thwarted. I ’ ve lost my address book, I ’ ve left my SIM batting order in the booth time slot and never actually ordered the cards ; I ’ ve misplaced the cards ; I ’ ve spilled salsa on the cards. I ’ ve pre-stamped the wrong 100 envelopes and had to cut off the postage and affix it onto the right 100 envelopes. By that meter, seven Christmases have passed–and I still haven ’ t sent a single Christmas card. I have tried the ol ’ just-send-New-Year ’ s-cards-instead self-ruse. That way, I rationalize, I can focus on all the stuff that has to get done before Christmas day — like quadruple-checking the endow checklist so I don ’ t leave Aunt Geraldine off it again. Or chopping down an unsuspecting evergreen and suffocating it with fagot lights and some other seen-better-days Christmas debris.

once January is in the rearview mirror, I routinely have an epiphany. Why not send out “ Casimir Pulaski Day ” cards ? That, I decide, would be two-pronged brilliant : 1. ) This Illinois vacation is relatively obscure–so how surprise ( and hilarious ! ) would it be to receive a Joy-to-the-Casimir greet ? ! ! ; 2. ) It besides constantly falls on the first Monday in March, so that would give me two months to complete my haunting, exhausting “ Christmas ” cards. then, a calendar month or so later, after March has come and gone, I have my following epiphany : ‘ Well, no matchless appreciates Mr. Pulaski anyhow, so I ’ ll print up some National Lemonade Day ( yes, that ’ s a real thing ) cards in late April, and won ’ triiodothyronine that be a hoot ? ! ” Later, I commit to National Dog Day or Scarf Day or whatever obscure celebrate is on the horizon. Pretty soon—you guessed it—I ’ ve made it to December again. And then I really have to focus and get those farad * cking Christmas cards done.

There is a whole battalion of huffy, disenchanted people out there who have purged tradition-breakers like me from their contacts. possibly they think I need to get off my american samoa and put in the work ; possibly they imagine they got X ’ d off my tilt for some mystery umbrage, and they ’ ra gon na return the privilege. I do kinda get it. possibly I should be doing a little eye-for-an-eye auditing besides. I keep a Post-it and try to keep track of the four people left who calm send me cards. And, I do try, laughably heavily, to reciprocate. sadly, I know that the gluey note will end up walking away on the bottom of person ’ second shoe. Frankly, for me, sending even four Christmas cards is vitamin a insurmountable as sending a million.

however, there are the loyalists—the ones who don ’ thyroxine neurotically scan their spreadsheets for Christmas card activeness. possibly the reason that they still include me in their mass mail is equitable a degage courtesy ( I ’ ll take it ! ), or possibly they have hobbies that don ’ triiodothyronine include exacting vengeance on a dreadfully hopeless scatterbrain. Those blessed souls are on my Christmas tease list this year. But, once Groundhog Day passes, they shouldn ’ thyroxine hold their hint. This article was originally published on November 19, 2021

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