Ode to obnoxious Christmas newsletters
posted by: gretchen
Everyone complains about bragging, overly-detailed Christmas newsletters.
Invasive medical procedures undergone in May are recounted on paper rimmed with robust snowmen. Splashy vacations are described in so much detail, the room smells like Coppertone and the majestic horse the newsletter writer rode in the surf on the white sand beach. The list of their children’s proudest moments would serve as a smart opening for a European Union application essay–yes, the accomplishments are so numerous, the EU might consider admitting a sovereign 8-year-old individual into their economic, social, and military alliance.
Parole officers, perfect health, demotions, bad report cards, and the story of the time back in March she was asked to resign from the volunteer committee under suspicion of using club funds to fuel her Starbucks addiction? The snowmen on the letterhead aren’t telling. Shhh.
Nobody admits to writing overly newsy newsletters. Oddly, everyone seems to have several relatives and friends who love paying extra postage to pack four single-spaced pages between the stiff folds of boxed cards. Someone has to be doing writing these.
It’s not me. It’s not you. Oh, heavens no! You say as you promise you’d never write such a tome. You can barely get the cards out of the house, addressed and stamped, by December 27th. It’s a good year when you manage to capture the family with a photo. The matching turtlenecks were purely accidental.
I think it’s time for Christmas newsletter writers to step out of the shadows and admit they are responsible for raising the ire of the nation. From sea to shining sea, ’tis the season of carefully-edited information dumping. Be proud! Your letter is.
Today, I will make it a little easier for you.
I love these letters.
I love that someone thought I’d like to know about their life in the past year. Accomplishments should be celebrated, health setbacks have the right to be noted. That procedure with the big sharp tube-thingy was probably scary. You got to go on an amazing vacation, funded by your Jeopardy win? You rock!
If I sleep with your letter under my pillow, could your good fortune rub off on me?
Whomever you are, keep churning out the newsy newsletter. Spare no detail, shove away any thought of self-censorship. I want to know. I love the heavy envelopes in the mailbox this time of year. Your life is in there, sealed and delivered into my life.
I am glad to know you.