Misadventures in Holiday Card Ordering

Whether you like it or not, you are probably a devout follower of the The Holiday Laws, Article 237, Section 5.  

That's the one says civilized people absolutely MUST send out oodles of cards featuring a photo of themselves, their partner, and/or offspring (pets optional).  It is of the utmost importance that in said photo(s) everyone look like the most attractive and joyful creatures ever to have graced the face of the earth.  

I might mock this custom a little (THE PRESSURE!), but really I love it. I have many friends scattered all over the country, whose gorgeous children I've never met, and may not meet for a long time, if ever.  It's a beautiful thing to open an envelope and see the passage of time through these ever-maturing young people.  

I love seeing a smirk, a smile, or just a fleeting expression that reminds me of my friend, not to mention seeing the faces of the kids that both drive my pals to drink and make their hearts soar.

And since I imagine that pics of my littles do the same for my friends, I treat the failure to send out cards like a felony.

I was slow this year, but since I have a DP (Doctorate in Procrastination), it didn't phase me much. On December 6, while the photo card companies were still handing out discounts like free condoms at a liberal college, I logged into my stand-by, the one that rhymes with Crapdish, and found a design I liked. Like any normal person, I uploaded some choice photos of my kids, and one family shot where we didn't look like candidates for DCFS. And then, after the amount of time it would take to separate conjoined twins, I hit the "submit" button.

With the discount codes my order came to about 13 cents.  Not really, but that's how thrilled I was.  I was ready to get a Crapdish tattoo on my butt.  

But wait. . . That's too cheap, I thought. I googled Crapdish, and found tons of complaints about the quality.

I did what any smart person would do.  I entered into a live chat with a customer service agent halfway across the world.

When I asked him about the paper quality, he never informed me that there was card stock, which is thick and durable and pretty, and then there was photo paper, which is flimsy and thin and once the postal person shoves it in a mailbox with 328 other items will look like a used Vagisil wipe.  

Sure it SAID photo paper.  But when you don't sleep, and two children and a husband have stolen your brain and turned it into cottage cheese, a gal needs a customer service rep with the insight and the BALLS to point out the obvious.

Ooops...

I ordered my cheapass cards and waited.

In two days, I got a notice that they had shipped.  Woot-woot!

In eight days, I went away for the weekend.  

When I came back, Hubs said they hadn't come, when they actually had (the subject of another post altogether).

The next day, I found the box and opened it.

Holy Shit!!! This. Was. All. Wrong. I launched into a diva hissy, and threw myself on the floor. "I canNOT send these cards!  These are HORRRRIBBLLLE!"  I called my bestie in New York, who, although she didn't say so, knew it was all my fault.  

I called Crapdish, and let them have it for LETTING me order such trash, and without emphasizing the difference.  

Graciously, and in accordance with their "satisfaction guaranteed" policy, they immediately refunded my money.  

But I still needed a card!

I scoured the Web for a card that was:

1. cheap

2. beautiful

3. would be printed and on my doorstep in five minutes.

Unfortunately, almost every company was now gouging those disorganized and stupid enough to wait until nine days before Christmas to order their holiday cards. In my book, these companies were now at the level of people who sold  overpriced single tampons.

Finally, after another 46 hours at the computer, I ordered my dream card from a company that sounds like Stutterguy.

Like Meatloaf says, "two outta three ain't bad." I almost had to put a second mortgage on my house to pay for those cards, but they should be here by Friday. 

Or else…

Happy Carding, Y'all!