My mother wrote the annual "Christmas letter" last night, and I didn't take the time to read it until today. It's funny. And really, really catty. Like most Christmas letters, she begins with a generic what-everyone-did-together this year (like starting the year off with a New Year's Day trip to the Outback Bowl in Tampa!--Go Hawkeyes). Then, also like most cheesy "This-is-easier-than-admitting-I-don't-want-to-talk-to-you" letters, she continues to tell what the year has been like for individuals in the family (like Brian went to Europe and spent seven weeks traveling--his favorite place was Berlin, but he really hated Italy). Eventually, she mentions my dad's year, and I quote, "Steve is still teaching government and econ at Hoover. He's trying to drive me crazy! He had all the cement, driveway and patio, replaced last summer. Some of my landscaping was destroyed so he had to pay a company to replace my work." Good lord, woman! Was that really necessary?

If my dad had written this note, this is what he could have written: "2004, another without being able to see my pool table for all the crap that woman has on top of it. Merry freaking Christmas!"