I wandered into Mr Lucky�s office yesterday�.something I try not to do, as his idea of keeping a room straight, and mine, are diametrically different. He figures if he can eventually find it in the piles rising up to 18 inches high, it�s clean.
I preface the following to say we have a tradition in our house. Mail addressed to him (except house bills) is placed, unopened, on his desk.. I handle the rest. We each have separate phone lines, and while I do not answer his, he has been known to answer mine, since he will not tolerate a ringing phone and can�t remember how to access voicemail. We do not answer, or pick up, each other�s cell phones.
Yesterday I noticed a pretty Christmas card lying on the office floor and I picked it up to put it in the basket. �No,� he stopped me. �I�m taking that one to the office.�
�No problem. I just wondered who had sent it� I replied. The cards we get nowadays are either addressed to both of us, which make them fair game for either to open � or to me alone. And, when he opens them, they often land in the 18-inch piles I told you about, never to be seen again.
�That reminds me� he went on, �there was a pretty one in the trash the other day.�
I furrowed my brow, as I NEVER throw away Christmas cards until after Christmas, saving the fronts of pretty ones for next year�s gift tags. �Who was it from?� I questioned.
�I don�t know. It was unopened, so I opened it. There was a 3-page hand-written letter inside. From one of your relatives I guess.�
�What� I said shocked. �It had to have fallen in there by accident when I was sorting that big pile of mail after my L.A. trip. Where is it?�
�Oh, I just figured it was someone you didn�t want to get a card from, so I threw it away again.�
I tried to stay calm. After all he rarely uses common sense � what would make me think this situation would be any different. �Who was it from?� I questioned anxiously. �You know there isn�t anyone I wouldn�t want a letter from.� Since five cousins constitute my entire family, a handwritten letter is especially important to me over the holidays. It is often the only contact we have during the year.
And you know the answer I got of course. �I don�t remember.� The standard answer to everything in his life. The answer to why reservations aren�t made, why appointments aren�t kept, why car tags aren�t renewed, why he doesn�t know who he just talked to, or where he just came from, why he doesn�t know what time or direction to go, why lists are always half fulfilled, why I have never had a birthday or Valentine�s card, why he has never bought a Christmas present, and why life is so darn difficult.
What normal, sane, person would react this way? Notice an unopened, hand-addressed card in the trash and, after opening it and realizing it was personal and contained a letter, just throw it away again? And say nothing to the person to whom it was addressed. It boggles the very pits of my mind.
I�ve tried to jog his memory. I had already gotten cards and letters from two of the five suspects, but he cannot remember � even though he saw the return address label and the signature inside. All he remembers is that it was two names.
I�ll call the three remaining suspects � just in case. Although it sounds odd to ask � �Did you send me a card?� Oh well, it�s relatives, after all. And they all know what I have to work with.
And a Merry WTF Bah Humbug Christmas to all of you too � cause it�s just the mood I�m in right now.
"Humans say Hell is paved with good intentions.
Why? Do they think there's a shortage of bad ones?"
Karm'Luk P'an Ku
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