Mail call

Regular readers of this blog of idiocy will instantly know everytime they check the mailbox and see the stack of Christmas cards in their mailboxes and the one from our family conspiculously not among them that the reason for this seeming slight is not because I have forgotten you, but because the freaking photo of my children that did not materialize like the ghost of Ansel Adams on the card until, oh, I don't know...say the 15th or so? That means Shutterfly.com--the official sponsor of the Divacard--is in a rush mode (I hope) to get it out to me post-haste so I can afix the pre-purchased stamps and enclose the first annual Christmas letter on annoyingly blinding red paper because when you wait until the 19th to buy Christmas stationary, your choices are limited to leftover pumpkins and easter eggs.

That was a long-winded way of saying the card is coming, if you want holiday snail mail from moi (again, regular readers will know my French reference is more than a cute colloquialism) then email me your address and you too will receive pictures of my kids Photo-shopped around a yule log.