One of the best things about December is the mail, which contains a toy surprise almost every day: a package on the porch, a Christmas card in the mailbox. Since the packages are almost always things I ordered, it’s the cards I look forward to the most. I put them up with poster putty around the arch between living room and kitchen, and I look at the pretty pictures with a sentimental sigh: like driving around looking at Christmas lights, it’s one of my favorite non-present-related parts of the holidays.

There is lots of complaining about Christmas cards. People write to advice columnists complaining that people just sign their names, or that Christmas cards are a waste of time and money and environmental resources, or that the form letters that accompany them are so impersonal. I don’t mind any of that stuff if there’s a pretty picture on the front. I have the rest of the year to exchange personalized information with these people, so at Christmas what I want is paper with glitter and foil on it.

I love Christmas cards so much, I would almost make a new friend just for the Christmas card they might send me. In fact, I should have asked you to send me one, but I’m nervous about weirdo Internet types. I know you’re not a weirdo Internet type, but if I give my address to one person I have to give it to everyone, and before you know it I have stalkers on the front lawn criticizing the way I hung the Christmas lights.