Grateful is Dead
It seems that it is and frankly, I say, good riddance to it.
I say this not because I’m ungrateful. Heaven forbid! I remember a time when even if you’d received the gift in person, and actually said the words “Thank you very much” directly into the face of whoever it was gifting you whatever it was, it still wasn’t enough. No, this person would still be expecting a hand written note on a little specially bought card to be plopping through their letter box within a certain interval. Too long an interval would be almost as bad as no card at all. Don’t even think you’ll get away with a phone call either- it’s a card or nothing- these people need cold hard evidence of gratitude. Mantlepiece dwelling evidence.
Dear Great Auntie Joan(for it is always to elderly aunts and grandmas that you must write these things)
Thanks for the dreadfully ill-fitting scratchy nylon cardigan and monkey piss aftershave that you gave me this Christmas. Despite only being ten and not needing any aftershave as yet, I am sure that I can find some use for it, perhaps as fuel for a Molotov cocktail, should the situation warrant it. These are uncertain times we live in, so I’m sure it will come in handy.
See you the same time next year for the same ritual until you finally peg it,
Your loving grand-nephew twice removed or whatever the hell I am to you; no-one ever really sat me down to explain,
Barry
Thank you letters- a social minefield if ever there was one. You forget to send one to the wrong person and bang, that’s it- you are dead to them. And I’m not just talking post Christmas thank you notes. There are two other situations in life where the thank you note can cause you serious social damage should you not attack it like a military campaign.
These events are: Birth, and Marriage.
Personally when I give a gift that’s it for me. Had a baby? There’s something nice for him/her. The End. Getting married? Thanks for the invite to the wedding, here’s a little something to show I appreciate the invite and to help you set up house (or a better equipped one than the one you’ve both been living in together for years anyway). Do I give a stuff if I get a card? It wouldn’t even cross my mind to be bothered about such a thing. If you’re offering a card, I’ll take it. If you’re not, then nae bother, because I wouldn’t notice.
Thank you card sulks belong in the world of the petty. Yes, send them if you must, I have sent many in my time as well. Meeester and I sat and opened all our wedding presents like one of those British Expeditionary Force meetings where ladies called Penelope in uniform move things about on a big map with long sticks and take orders from men with big curly moustaches called Ginger. Meeester (he was Ginger) did the opening, I (Penelope) did the recording of what it was and who it was from, so that I could then sit for an entire day after our honeymoon and get the blasted cards out to the right people. Heaven forbid you thank the wrong person for the wrong gift. Again, for certain people this faux pas is worse than no card at all.
I have always felt this way about thank you letters and cards. Many people will disagree with my feelings and think me a slatternly ungrateful cow, but I’m not. I’d just rather say thanks in person. And I don’t make my kids write them either. A gift should not engender an obligation.
Another thing strikes me. No-one ever expects a bloke to write a thank you card. Think about it- did you ever see your husband, brother or father sit down and write a letter of thanks. Have you ever received a letter of thanks from an uncle or grandfather? No, you have not. In the same way women are expected to endure the yearly trauma of writing a bazillion Christmas cards to people they never see, they are also expected to take time out of probably the most hectic times in their lives, the month after childbirth, to write thank yous to all the people who have given the baby a gift. I mention this because apparently I once forgot to send one of these. It was nearly twelve years ago when my son was born. For years I could never figure out why this person doesn’t like me. What had I done to offend? Turns out it’s because she gave my then baby a gift and never got a thank you card by return of post. I do not remember this. Apparently twelve years on, she still does.
So where are you in this; foaming at the mouth if seven days go past and no card appears and writing to the Daily Mail about the kids of today, or a Veruca Salt like I apparently am?
