So. You’re a stone heavier. Your wallet’s a stone lighter. All the presents you bought are 50% off in the sales. And you’re surrounded by Round Robins consigned to the overflowing recycling bin as soon as they were opened.
But you’ve decided to peruse them again. To reignite the Christmas spirit? Not likely.
Feelings of depression and inadequacy will only be strengthened by these circulars of stupefyingly self-satisfied, self-congratulatory, sickening, self-eulogising, smug boringness.
Example number one: the child-worshipper. You may be proud of what you have achieved this year, until you receive an effusive epistle for which you might have thanked the postal service for losing in transit. Not climbed up Mt. Kilamanjaro carrying only a toothbrush and the new Nikon camera like dear little Tommy? Or performed your first recital at the Royal Albert Hall? Danced with the Royal Ballet like wee Araminta? Had audience with the Pope? Well that’s just not good enough really is it. Just what, you may think, have I been doing with my year? Why am I so horribly inadequate? All I did was pass exams (narrowly), get trashed a lot and go on a beach holiday. To Majorca.
You probably also got a lot of stick from your parents and heard them openly denigrating your character to their friends over dinner.
Well, take comfort: all the most talented people had terrible parents. Mozart’s father berated him constantly, driving him to Requiems. Michael Jackson’s dad pushed his son to a nose-job, and eternal fame. Every week someone makes a fortune selling a paperback full of their childhood woes.
Therefore, do not try to
be better than these shockingly able children. Do not envy them their glowing, supportive parents. Wallow in your comparatively miserable circumstances and later you might even be hailed as some kind of genius.
Example number two: at a time when we’re meant to be harking and heralding the imminent angels, a letter containing a record number of deaths in the family just isn’t welcome or conducive to Christmas cheer. If you know the writer, you’ll know the number of his or her close friends and relatives who didn’t quite make it to December. If you haven’t seen them in a decade (and there’s always a reason for that), you just don’t want to know.
Festive and funeral doesn’t mix. Whatever happened to good old British restraint and the stiff upper lip?
Oh well, at least you won’t envy the people behind these particular circulars.
The best way to end this activity is to chuck them all in the shredder, along with any unwanted gifts you had to eke out smiles over, and thank God it’s over for another year.
