It is about this time every year, that I start dreading the mail delivery like a democrat dreads work boots. Inevitably, among the colorful and thoughtful Christmas cards from friends and family, there is that one envelope that weighs considerably more. It doesn’t contain a mere holiday card, oh no. This envelope contains much, much more.
As I roll my eyes and try to tamp down the anticipated nausea from what I’m about to read, I pull from the envelope the Holiday Letter, that is more like a script from a 2 a.m. infomercial. There is always one of these letters every Christmas, where we get to read about someone’s entire melodramatic year. I swear people write these letters to passive-aggressively put other people down.
It always starts with the same ridiculous platitude, “I hope this letter finds you well!” Let’s be honest, no you don’t. You weren’t thinking of me, or anyone else you sent this literary death sentence to when you wrote it. You were thinking of you, and how wonderful your social media life is. And now, we all get to read about it some more. “Things are hectic as always here in the Shmuckatelli residence! At the rate these kids are growing, they will be taller than me by next Christmas!” This is the same thing they said last year, and the year before that. These fucking kids should have NBA contacts at this point. Besides, it’s not like any of us haven’t seen them in the 15,000 photos you’ve posted online throughout the year. What I don’t understand is how you haven’t figured out by now that the one with the large head is probably a dwarf and has stopped growing.
The letter continues, “Charles has been working really hard, and was promoted 47 times this year! We are so blessed to have three homes on the water but trying to decorate them all for the holidays is so grueling! The maid has cut us back to only three days each week. This economy is really hurting us. With having to tend to the house those two other days, I’ve had to cut back on my spa days and Tik-tok videos. The one where I’m selflessly telling everyone all of the money I give to charity, already has 500 views, can you believe it!” (They love to rub their charity and ‘hardships’ in your face). It was a tough year battling acute chronic extreme systemic problems with all of my cells. The doctors can’t figure out what’s wrong with me!” (But we all can).
They are hardly finished. Their rambling, autobiographical thesis goes on for 17 pages, talking about their pets, neighbors, the daily weather, morning routines, every single time they sneezed that year, every vacation they went on, and their vaccination status. It’s pretty much the most nauseating thing you’ve ever read aside from your tax bill. Volumes of fantasy life bullshit. Just one big LARP.
And we all know it’s bullshit. You aren’t fooling anyone. This is how the year really looked, for everyone — including you. If I were to write a holiday letter:
It was a mediocre year at best, but taco Tuesdays were always the bright spot. I must be a miracle of science, because I’m through 2 years without a mask or vaccine, and I’m amazingly upright. I haven’t been sick once, except for that one Wednesday where I almost shit my pants on the bus, from the bad taco Tuesday the night before. It was a pretty boring year. I did laundry a few times and humped my fist anytime the neighbor’s hot wife went outside in yoga pants. I got a flat tire, took a bunch of crap from my boss, sat in traffic screaming at taillights, and nearly had to beat up an old lady for the last package of toilet paper on the shelf. I will run grandma over with a reindeer or a shopping cart if I have to. The closest thing I had to a vacation was day-drinking and yelling at pigeons when I was forced to work from home because the air is apparently healthier there. Or something. I fell on the ice, in dog shit, down the steps, and damn near into a coma from the endless stupidity coming from the television. The social anxiety got so bad at times that I started making up voices for random people I would see in the store, just to imagine how stupid they probably sound. I didn’t make any new friends, but I did achieve my goal of staying away from even more people than last year. I finally finished that book I was reading. Well, it was Penthouse Forum, but those stories are real!! Also, I made it another year without the doc suggesting that he stick his finger up my ass, so that’s a win for 2021. Best wishes for no ass-fingering in 2022! Unless that’s your thing.