Originally posted on greenfairydotcom

You Will Need:

Cards.

Biro (nearly expired).

Six Morrisons fondant-topped mince pies.

One bottle Bombay Sapphire (small).

Instructions:

In desire to appear both terrifyingly postmodern and effortlessly chic, spend September to mid-December looking out for the perfect card that will simultaneously generate feelings of cheer in the recievee and broadcast your own offhand cool; simple, arch, robin-free. End up with a 20-pack of minature pink creations with a triangle and the word 'tree' on the front and realise you've ended up with cards for the educationally challenged. Have drink.

Sit with pen poised over first card for half an hour. Recognise that because 'Merry Christmas' has already been printed for you, you have nothing else to say to the schoolfriend who had three kids by twenty and with whom you are only in touch the rest of the year by means of being a CC to the hilarious emails that do the rounds of her office every day.

Agonise for a while over whether to send friends who are couples joint or individual cards. Have never been in a similar recieving situation myself, but suspect would feel overcome with a nameless rage to recieve card addressed to me and partner as though some huge, writhing, four limbed organism. After ten minutes of heartfelt deliberation however, realise decision is already made for you by shortage of stamps.

Lose envelopes. Locate after fifteen minutes under flurry of small silver pie trays and crumbs.

Before licking and sticking the envelope, sprinkle inside liberally with star-shaped sequins and glitter. Despite propensity to do this every year, friends will yet again fail to recall and open expansively over best shagpile, ensuring you will be remembered not just in the caring, sharing season but throughout the year whenever they step on one in bare feet.