Ah, the holiday season is upon us, and with it comes the annual tradition that fills me with equal parts joy and confusion: the arrival of Christmas cards!
And every year, without fail, I find myself embroiled in the same baffling mystery: Who on earth is “John”?
You know the one.
Every December, like clockwork, a card appears in my mailbox, signed simply as “Merry Christmas, John.” No last name, no return address, just a cryptic greeting that leaves me scratching my head like a confused chicken.
Now, I know a few Johns.
There’s my cousin John, who still thinks he’s the life of the party despite his last dance being in 1998.
Then there’s my old school mate John, who once tried to convince me that wearing socks with sandals was a fashion statement.
And let’s not forget the John from Pilates, who swears he’s a Scorpio but gives off serious Virgo energy. Trust me, I’ve seen him organise the mats by colour.
Yet, every year, I’m left stumped. I’ve even resorted to analysing the handwriting like I’m Sherlock Holmes on a caffeine binge.
“Slanted left? Flourished ‘J’? Could this be plumber John? But why would he send me a card? I haven’t even called him for a leaky faucet!”
One year, I decided to enlist my partner in this festive detective work.
“Do you recognise this handwriting?” I asked, shoving the card under her nose like it was a rare artifact. She squinted at it, then shrugged. “Looks familiar,” she said, unhelpfully. Of course it does! It’s John! But which one?
This year, I’m convinced it’s all part of a grand conspiracy. Someone, somewhere, is cackling with glee, watching me spiral into a Yuletide identity crisis. It’s the perfect holiday prank: just cryptic enough to drive me mad, yet harmless enough to avoid suspicion.
Could this “John” be part of an underground society of card-senders? A secret club dedicated to perplexing polite people like me who are too nice to just . . . not care?
I can picture them now, gathered around a table, sipping eggnog and plotting their next move: “Let’s send him a card signed ‘John’ again! That’ll really get him!”
And the worst part?  I’ll still display the card proudly on my mantelpiece, right next to the one from Aunt Mabel that features a cat wearing a Santa hat. Because that’s what the holidays are about, isn’t it? Spreading joy, even in mysterious, mildly frustrating forms.
So, cheers to you, John. Whoever you are, wherever you are, you’ve won this round.
But, mark my words, next year? I’m sending out cards signed  “From: Me.” Let’s see how you like that, John! Game on!