To the people who feel compelled to compose a long missive detailing every glorious move made by you and yours over the last 365 days and include it with your Christmas card: There’s a right way and a wrong way to write a Christmas letter. I’m not opposed to them at all—I actually enjoy reading them, both for their comic relief from the holiday stress, and for the wonderful news imparted by long-lost relatives. This post was prompted by a beloved aunt, whose Christmas letter this year arrived sans card. She announced at the beginning of the letter that she’s sick of sending Christmas cards and that her husband never, ever helps with them. Excellent. Carry on, Auntie M. Next, she happily shared that her daughter had gotten divorced, told an interesting story about how all the toilets in her house broke with a house full of people on Thanksgiving, which she followed up with a cheerful, “I know, TMI!” She’s the best.
And then there’s the other kind of Christmas letter, which is equally as entertaining yet written with a smidge less self-awareness…my favorite being the one from a friend that told of the birth of her child and then followed up with a description of the LEVEL FOUR TEAR that her baby’s head ripped in her vaginal area. Yes, Great-Aunt Edna and your cousin Father O’Brien the Catholic priest really wanted the mental image of your torn hee-haw seared in their brains forever. Happy Holidays, and remember, you really do want people laughing with you, not at you…or at your vaginal tear!