Adhering to guidelines, Bob sells out and Advent-ageous

Dear Rachel,

I started sending out Christmas cards last week and I balked at licking envelopes. This is where the pandemic has brought us. I feel like licking a freaking envelope is the opposite of lovingkindness, of ethical living, of all that Good and Truth stand for this year. I’ve gone nine months without hugging a human being, and I’m going to lick envelopes? Yeah right. But the thing is, Scotch tape on a Christmas card looks tacky. How can I seal my envelopes this year?

– Got Licked

Dear Lapping It Up,

Who still sends Christmas cards? The pandemic might be killing envelope licking, but sending physical notes through the mail died a long, long time ago. The only Christmas cards I get are from my car insurance company, my pet insurance company, and my grandpa, aka my inheritance insurance company. I still stick them all to my fridge with magnets until at least March, because it makes me feel like I have friends.

– With tongue, Rachel

Dear Rachel,

Who would have thought I’d ever use these words: Bob Dylan the sellout. Mr. Counterculture himself, Mr. Blazing-new-trails, just sold the rights to all his existing music for like a third of a billion dollars. I grew up thinking he was the voice of the people, sticking it to The Man. Now he’s just another suit. I realized I’ve been clinging to the same icons for almost 60 years. I need a new rebel. Any recommendations?

– Groaning in the Wind

Dear Mr. Complainbourine Man,

No doubt Pete Seeger and Woodie Guthrie just died a little more than they already had. Dylan could have at least gone for some evil-genius-level amount of money. But no one asks for a fraction of a billion dollars. “Yes (in a nasally voice), uh, give me slightly less than one third of one billion dollars (blows into harmonica until the world relents and gives him money).” But dude, he was already a sellout. Have you heard his Victoria’s Secret commercial?

– I do believe I’ve had enough, Rachel 

Dear Rachel,

My mom mailed me an advent calendar, which is a nice gesture and all, but I am a grown woman and I buy my own high-quality chocolate. Now I have these 24 pieces of low-grade milk chocolate sitting on my counter, and my mom calling me every day to ask what shape that day’s chocolate was. She’s never been this helicopter-y, and I’m about to snap. What’s a way to tell her to back off that doesn’t put me on the naughty list?

– Bad Elf

Dear Darling Daughter,

Wait, your mother sent you something? In the mail? Did she lick the big envelope it was in? Does that mean she loves you? Or is she just an insurance representative who sends advent calendars to all her clients? I never thought I’d feel jealous over two dozen pieces of inferior chocolate – milk chocolate at that – but I’m starting to wonder if I need a better family. Someone to send me heartfelt mementos; someone I can lie to when she asks me about chocolate shapes because I threw that crap away long ago.

– Have yourself a merry, Rachel