Genius, or just wrong?
The LOML and I went to to a wedding the other week. It was a posh one - fancy marquee on the croquet lawn at the mother's country pile, hot and cold running waitresses, wind quintet. The bride was my lovely little cousin, who has finally got together with one of her banking colleagues at the age of 32 or so. Didn't get the chance to talk to him really, because he was too busy doing the Gordon Gecko* on the dancefloor with a whole fucking wunch of his Porsche-driving banker mates. They had all tied the menu-securing ribbons around their heads, and were dancing in a tight circle in some bizarre hangover from a team-bonding exercise. I was snorting with mirth into my champagne with the subsequent attempts of wannabes among the guests also tying ribbons around their heads then shuffling self-consciously onto the dancefloor in a pathetic attempt to join the self-proclaimed a-list. They were utterly shunned, naturally. I thought about going for a dance with the ribbon hanging out of my bare arsehole, but the LOML made me desist. I settled for requesting A Town Called Malice and Going Underground and moshing into them instead. Hard. I do a good elbow to the kidneys when moshing and it was put to full use. The LOML moshed into them even harder, if anything. She's good like that.
Anyhoo, because we were faaaamily, we were invited back the day after for a tour of the gardens (which were lovely, incidentally) and a spot of luncheon (also lovely, natch). And then we wended our way home. And forgot about it.
This was nearly a month ago. The LOML casually asked the other night if I had sent a thank-you note.
Arse. Sod it. Sinking feeling in stomach.
These things are important in my family. Terribly big on good manners, my family. This is a faux-pas of fairly collosal proportions; we will now be considered the chav end of the family, bumpkin downsizing fuckwits, ostracised from the birthday party invite list at swanky cocktail hotels in London. We never go, but at least we are invited. Pass the ASBO.
I think for a minute, and come up with a Genius Solution. I select a Very Tasteful card from my multi-purpose box of cards, sensibly ensuring that there is a matching Tasteful Envelope the correct size. I then write a fulsome note of thanks in fountain pen, cleverly ensuring I use the phrase "many thanks for ... last weekend", cleverly leave it undated, and cleverly stick it in the envelope. Cleverly, I address the envelope in the same fountain pen.
Then, then, in ballpoint, I write on the back of the envelope "Mortified to find this still unposted in a pile of junkmail. Dreadfully sorry". And post the letter.
Genius**. Or just wrong***.
You decide.
*a bit like the Gay Gordons, but greedier.
**My opinion.
***the LOML's.
Anyhoo, because we were faaaamily, we were invited back the day after for a tour of the gardens (which were lovely, incidentally) and a spot of luncheon (also lovely, natch). And then we wended our way home. And forgot about it.
This was nearly a month ago. The LOML casually asked the other night if I had sent a thank-you note.
Arse. Sod it. Sinking feeling in stomach.
These things are important in my family. Terribly big on good manners, my family. This is a faux-pas of fairly collosal proportions; we will now be considered the chav end of the family, bumpkin downsizing fuckwits, ostracised from the birthday party invite list at swanky cocktail hotels in London. We never go, but at least we are invited. Pass the ASBO.
I think for a minute, and come up with a Genius Solution. I select a Very Tasteful card from my multi-purpose box of cards, sensibly ensuring that there is a matching Tasteful Envelope the correct size. I then write a fulsome note of thanks in fountain pen, cleverly ensuring I use the phrase "many thanks for ... last weekend", cleverly leave it undated, and cleverly stick it in the envelope. Cleverly, I address the envelope in the same fountain pen.
Then, then, in ballpoint, I write on the back of the envelope "Mortified to find this still unposted in a pile of junkmail. Dreadfully sorry". And post the letter.
Genius**. Or just wrong***.
You decide.
*a bit like the Gay Gordons, but greedier.
**My opinion.
***the LOML's.
posted by crisiswhatcrisis at
9:50 am
5 Comments:
I confess - difficult letter, death of someone I chersihed but not family or even close, a neighbour, - took ages to get right etc. But I said 'under seat in car'.
Slightly worried that you will be consigned to chav pile anyway as surely the butler should deal with your junk mail? I hope you reprimanded him.
By
the Beep, at 10:20 am
Oh, as one who is sometimes tardy and featherbrained, I thought your solution was ok.
Thanks for sticking your pin in my guestmap, You brits are starting to crowd the little Island! :-)
My husband's cousin took almost a year to send thank you notes from their wedding. I thought that was a bit rude. But a month, that's ok.
(Don't take advice from me, I have no friends)
*snicker*
By
Kyahgirl, at 6:24 pm
that's the problem with junk mail, isn't it? you don't check it very often (I'm often to be found amongst people's junk mail and when they tell me that I feel quite sad)
two options to your "dilemma":
(i) if something's worth doing, it's worth doing well
(ii) life's too short
actually, there's a third:
(iii) you can't do everything
obviously there are loads more, but in fact you provided a choice - so I'll go with. . .
. . .erm
. . .er
d'ya know what? I'd rather say I was just very impressed that you have a selection of tasteful cards with matching envelopes!
By
I, Like The View, at 2:06 pm
Time was, I'd have done much the same thing. Now I'd probably simply tell the truth and apologise. At least you wrote, better late than not at all.
"Carried by slow male" written on the envelope could be a compromise solution?
By
Z, at 4:28 pm
I do that so often I think everyone expects it now.
I don't do it as carefully (with the different pens and all) as you did though :)
By
mig bardsley, at 5:40 pm
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