I love the holiday season. I love decorating, and wrapping gifts (Oh mi gawd, I have a really unhealthy love of gift wrapping. I like to spend hours picking the *right* wrap, which might be paper, it might be tissue, it might be fabric – it depends entirely on how the gift ‘speaks’ to me. (Yes, I’m a weird hippie like that.) Then I pick the embellishments; ribbon, fabric, tags…), stuffing stockings, and even untangling all the lights (though, I’ll be honest, my slightly Type A personality means that the lights aren’t really tangled, so much as neatly wrapped so they just need to be plugged in and tested, and then can be unravelled and strung up. It’s a pain in the butt when they’re getting put away at the end of the season, but SO WORTH IT when they get pulled out each year.)
What I don’t love?
“Scrooge!,” you say. Yeah, maybe. What’s not to love? Mail that’s not a bill, usually including cute pictures of kids or pets. Or maybe some witty, or heartfelt wish from someone who cared enough to send me good tidings. How can you go wrong?
Well, by addressing the cards to any of the following: Mr. & Mrs. Hisfirstname Hislastname, Myfirstname Hislastname, Hisfirstname & Mysfirstname Hislastname, The Hislastname Family, or even Mr. & Mrs. Mylastname (which I got yesterday, and while it was an interesting twist – it’s still not right).
I didn’t change my last name when the hubs and I got married. And I guess maybe I should have formally announced that at the reception, or sent a carrier pigeon, or something. Because pretty much everyone (my friends from high school seem to be the exception – thank maude for you guys), assumes I have. They continue to assume this, DESPITE having received AT LEAST 4 pieces of mail over the last two years with a return label that reads Myfirtsname Mylastname & Hisfirstname Hislastname.
So, I get pissed off EVERY.SINGLE.TIME we get mail addressed incorrectly. I don’t think it’s cute, or clever. In fact, I think it’s pretty damn rude. But I don’t know how to go about correcting people at this point. Several people have been told, politely and specifically, and STILL send them addressed however they damn well please.
I’d like to be able to just let it go. To just shrug my shoulders and say, “Ah, well…” but I can’t. IT’S MY DAMN NAME we’re talking about. Who wants to get mail addressed to someone who doesn’t exist? I mean, if your name is Jill, I wouldn’t think you’d want to get mail addressed to Sue.
The hub’s 92 year old grandmother gets it right EVERY.SINGLE.TIME. How come our 35 year old friends can’t?