It getting to be that time of year again, I dragged Margie along to shop for Christmas cards on Saturday. We went to Papyrus at the Park Meadows Mall, which is sort of Hallmark Done Right, though their Christmas card selection is (to my mind) relatively limited.
I’ve always been (as previously noted) the Christmas card freak in our household. I can remember as a kid going with my Mom to the mall to select and order Christmas cards from the catalog books at Buffums or May Co. or Broadway or wherever (and actually did the same thing for a while after I was on my own). I’m the one who actually does all the grunt labor on the cards — filling out, addressing, stamping, getting mailed, etc. Margie helps decide on the card itself, helps with the list of recipients, and gives me copious attaboys for working so hard on it.
It’s a fair match. She does a lot of other things of that sort where the roles are reversed.
(Actually, this year, Katherine picked out the card design — spotted it first — though we both concurred. It wasn’t her favorite, as she wanted something with pictures of dogs with Santa hats, but it was still her contribution to the process.)
So all that’s left is sifting through the address book for the definitive list (usually around 75 or so) and printing address labels. Then getting some stamps (though we probably have 20-odd left over from last year). Then deciding on a date for our Twelfth Night party so that the invites can be printed and included in the cards.
Then, if I’ve done my advance work properly, I can blow through it all over Thanksgiving and bask in an internal sense of self-righteousness for a social job well done (one of the few social jobs I do, let alone do well, in our family).
And, no, that’s not anal. Starting your Christmas shopping in early November, on the other hand …