It's started: the
annual mystification when Christmas cards arrive and you have no idea
who they're from.
“Fondest love,
Megan”, this one says. Megan? I don't know any Megan! Wait a
minute, there WAS that funny creature with the bad teeth... No, can't
be her, why would she me send a card after the way I stared at
her mouth. More likely to send me a letter-bomb... Oh yes, and there
was that other Megan, the inexplicably fat vegetarian....no, can't be
her, she's most likely gaga by now, given her drink habit. Postmark?
No help. The bloody stamp isn't even franked (Note to self: I wonder
if I could steam it off and re-use it..).
Oh bugger, here's
another one: “All the best, mate. Darrell.” Mate? I've
never mated with anyone called Darrell. Maybe he's sent the card to
the wrong Old Scrote. Postmark? Same again, looks like I might have
TWO free stamps this year.
You see, darlings, what
really bothers me is the realisation that somewhere
this Christmas, somebody is going to stare at the card I sent them
and say “Who the frack is Jake??” Unlike Megan and
Darrell, though, I am unforgettable and take it very badly when I'm
fracked.
2 comments:
Could Blodwyn Trellis have a middle name of Megan. It would be just like her; and to use it when sending cards to people she doesn't really know. I'd be a little worried about that one.
Nice one, Mike! It's an interesting suggestion, but I have no way of knowing if it's true or not as the dear lady never puts her home address on her correspondence.... Mind you, an envelope addressed to The Nutter, Llanfairpg would probably reach her.
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