A friendship "poofed"

Des. 22, 2012 -- The Dreaded Christmas Letter
Dec. 21, 2015 -- The Hideous Christmas Letter

Read those blogs of mine and you will see what I think of people who turn the birth of Our Lord into a boring, tedious, hubris-ridden litany of  'who cares?'

We ran into the husband of an author of one of these ridiculous musings yesterday, when we ventured to The Palliser for lunch.  "Look who's sitting over there," I whispered to B.  "It's MG."  And indeed it was.  An old and valued friend of B's from his post-graduate days in London at the London School of Economics, M used to make it a point to get in touch with us whenever he came to Calgary.

Frankly, I'd rather listen to Jimmy than Warren -- the two Buffets, the latter of which M is a disciple of.  When the 2008 crash happened, the deputy governor of the Bank of Canada said he wished B had handled his finances.  We put ours under the mattress. 

No more.  Not since I blasted his wife in a couple of blogs about "Christmas Letters".  Why do people think anyone cares about what they did over the past year?  Why do they think the rest of us value so little what our year wrought they think we will enjoy theirs?  It's so insulting.  Sending out a Xeroxed copy of blah-blah-blah to everyone means the author couldn't care less about what we were doing in our little corners of the world.

"I'm just having a reflective lunch on my own," he said when B approached.  Translation:  Don't sit with me and don't ask me to sit with you.  That's the influence his wife must have had on him.  "All my friends think you're a terrible snob," their daughter said to this woman a while back when I was in the car somewhere in Toronto.  N was visibly shocked, but I wasn't.  In fact, she would have got on like a house on fire with B's ex -- two women who do not have a proper conceit of themselves. 

As the English say, the worst sin one can commit is to be a bore.  Not my cuppa.