I picked up the next Christmas card, smiling at my wife, who was always seated just so on our plastic covered sofa when we opened our Christmas cards on Christmas Eve.
The card came in a red envelope with my first name, Roger, in the middle, capital letters, black ink, underlined.
I opened the envelope by hand, like my wife preferred. There was a Santa on the front, smiling joyfully, holding his “pot full of jelly” with both hands.
I opened the card, it said, capital letters, black ink: ROGER, YOU FUCK – I KNOW WHO YOU ARE AND I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!
My wife looked at me expectantly, a tad terse at my apparent reluctance to continue the ritual.
I cleared my throat. “To Roger, Happy Holidays! Wishing you and yours all the best this holiday season. Carol.”
My wife’s eyes beamed. “How sweet. Carol always writes such nice cards,” she said, as she grabbed the next envelope from the pile.