A letter written by a father to his daughter about his most important truth.
Harry Browne, in a letter to his daughter on Christmas: It’s Christmas and I have the usual problem of deciding what to give you. I know you might enjoy many things — books, games, clothes. But I’m very selfish. I want to give you something that will stay with you for more than a few months or years. I want to give you a gift that might remind you of me every Christmas.
My parents gave me a really good book of crock pot recipes for Christmas, and I thought I’d try one out Wednesday night. I went to the store for the ingredients the night before, and woke up extra early the next morning to put it together. I didn’t have a proper lid for my crock pot then, but I had a heavy metal one that was the right size, so I figured it’d work just as well.
The Christmas card poem that didn’t make it: Greetings Bill and Maria! I had a great idea To send you my love via … I’m writing this in a pizzeria In a galleria in South Korea I hope I don’t get diarrhea In their bathroom I could get gonorrhea
When I was young, I wished I could write all my Christmas thank you cards using mail merge and get away with it. Good manners, bah! I think if I did do it, the electronic or printed format would give me away. Maybe if I printed using a cursive font?