Dear Friends and Family,
Since we’ve received so many annual Christmas letters from you all, either unbearably pompous or so poorly written they sound like they were translated from 18th century Hungarian, we decided to return the favor this year. Remember: A mass letter giving you the high points of our lives this year doesn’t mean we don’t love you, it means we don’t love you enough to visit, pick up the phone, or send an occasional e-mail.
The purebredtarded cat, at age five, finally figured out where water comes from and can now drink from the sink. Much credit to Kelly’s hours spent holding her paw near the faucet and repeating, “water, Helen, water.” If we could just teach her to get down from there…
Michael overcame his annual temporary facial paralysis and is now even more ridiculously good looking than ever. Though he didn’t make it home in time for martini hour once this year, he did almost join a kickball league, a book club, and he drove by a church three times. At the top of his holiday list? A Super Soaker 3000. We had to stand in line for three hours at the g*ddamn Toys R Us to make that wish come true.
As far as Kelly is concerned, dear Family, your little girl may be all grown up. She stopped referring to Michael as her “gay husband.” She didn’t cry during a single AT & T commercial this year. She only drove with illegal plates for two months. She skipped her annual one-night-stand-followed-by-weeks-of-remorse this year. And she finally read enough “learning how to say no” magazine articles, and learned how to say no (those last two items sort of go hand in hand…).
We'd love to send you photos of the 12 couples we know who adopted baby girls from China this year, but Kelly wants to keep them to look at and cry, just in case her biological clock ever kicks in.
Have a wonderful holiday and happy 2005.