In case I never got around to sending you one, here's the picture from last year's Christmas card.
Inside the card it said "We hope your Christmas rocks!"
As you can see, it took quite a while to get a picture good enough for a Christmas card:
I know what you're thinking. What kind of narcissist thinks we'd be interested in her Christmas card outtakes?
Hey! This kind of narcissist, that's who.
Actually, I'm not doing it out of ego. I'm doing it so you'll get an idea of what I go through. I spend the whole year trying to get a picture of the four of us looking passably attractive and doing something interesting. And this is a huge challenge, because we're generally sitting around staring into a laptop and looking like dog vomit.
See, I'm not a narcissist. I'm a whore. I want pity, or if not that, empathy.
I mean, those Christmas cards of the entire family looking adorable and perky on a beach somewhere--the little girls in Lilly Pulitzer shifts, the little boys in matching polo shirts ... don't you just hate those people? Please say yes.