My husband knows I’ve been waiting for some cards from my friends. I specifically instructed him not to open any mail for me.

This card reached me fully opened.

Me: Why did you open it! It’s my card!

Him: I have my name on it.

True. Conjugal privilege. There are some things in marriage that I still need to get used to.

Me: Did you read it?

Him: Yes.

Me: We should have at least read it together.

In his attempt to make me feel better…

Him: I can’t understand what he wrote.

Yes, my friend Albert has a handwriting like chicken scratch. In high school, people who borrowed notes from him ended up having migraine.

I usually need my decoder turned to its maximum dial before I could decipher his penmanship. But I read this Christmas card and got the message instantly. So this is one of his bests. I imagine him writing it so slowly and carefully.

Poor Captain. I see him receiving his first Christmas card, excited to see what’s inside and scrawly chicken letters greet him hello. buack buack buackakak!

There are also some things that even marriage could not give you automatic privilege to.