Christmas Letter Season

I've just completed one of our occasionally painful family traditions - writing the annual Christmas letter. What started out as a way to provide an update to many with minimal effort has become a pain in the butt. The writing itself is not so bad - it's the act of seeking editorial approval from Sandy. Once I got her to sign off on including the "smells like dicks" (sporting goods) comment from our six year old, I felt like I've been in a bar fight.

By now, our distribution list has grown to over 100, although I've got a few old friends I'm considering dropping. It's hard to complain when someone puts forth the effort to actually write something beyond the family names on a Christmas card. However, I've got a beef with an old friend in Alabama.

I once considered my friend Jerry the very model of a married man. Jerry would eat, drink, and say whatever he felt like. As a newlywed (this was a very long time ago), I asked Jerry how he managed to get away with saying and doing the things he did. All of the other married men I knew were afraid to make our wives mad. Jerry taught me a valuable lesson. He pointed out that even if he did everything his wife wanted him to, she'd still find something to get mad about. If the outcome would always be the same, Jerry's thinking was that he should at least enjoy himself along the way. GENIUS.

This year, this brilliant man's wife (who is in fact a wonderful person) wrote the family Christmas letter. One year they tried to write one page each - as I recall we received the finished product in late March. Anyway, she mentions in the letter that Jerry had lost 30 pounds this year and looks great. Oh, and they sent us the card/letter before Christmas.

Jerry should know better! I have no doubt that the other dozens to hundreds of middle aged men whose wives read the letter to them all cursed the same way I did. While I'm happy for Jerry, the last thing I need is for my wife to start in on me about losing weight and exercising during the prime football-watching, sausage-eating, beer-drinking, couch-napping season. If you want to stay on the mailing list, you've got to police your side of the fence.

Then again, Jerry taught me well. Figuring that she's gonna get mad anyway, I'm going back to the couch. Happy Holidays.