Loading ...Got the following email from my friend Jeff:
So this is Christmas. Or shall I say, this is what Christmas has become.
Deadline, smedline for sending out cards. My ink-jet printer crapped out on me today and I won’t be able to send Christmas cards via US of A postal annex in my neighborhood.
The new $8,000.00 copier we just purchased, last week, just won’t accept the card stock like the, now printing-challenged and, only, $100.00 ink-jet ustacould.*
* “ustacould,” used in context very similar to they way George W Bush, in his recent speech about the apprehension of Sadam Hussein, says “… we can’t do business like we ustacould.”
As you know I pride myself on sending personalized Christmas cards and this is my apology for not sending one this year.
We all know this holiday is a tactile from the smell of cinnamon in the kitchen or the added kick of Lysol Pine scent in the living room, if you don’t have the extre cash to spring for a parking lot Christmas tree. It kills me not to send a card.
So I am bitter-ish. It ain’t gunna ruin Christmas. Heck, I gotta a cute two year old that sings Christmas carols . . . over and over and over. And a three year old who has circled every toy in the Targ’et catalog, twice.
Chin up Jeff. Ill be sure to get the drumkit and 5,000 piece lego set off to your kids as soon as I can.
