I was excited when I received a letter from a friend that I hadn’t heard from in a while. I thought it was nice of her to take the time to stay in touch, and I anxiously tore open the envelope to catch up on the current happenings in her life.
I got suspicious when I unfolded the letter and noticed her stationary had “THIS IS NOT A CHAIN LETTER,” in big, black letters along the top. I continued to read and, instead of hearing about my friend’s life, I learned I had become a member of the Fancy Bow Club. According to the letter, I needed to mail a new hair bow to the person on the top of the list, move the rest of the members up and then add my own name at the bottom.
At first, this sounded OK until I calculated when my name got to the top of the list, I would be the recipient of roughly 5,000 bows. I wasn’t sure where I’d put them all, but I figured it might be fun and I didn’t want my friend to know I had broken the chain, so I went to the store and bought a pink satin bow. I brought it home and wrapped it in bubble wrap, then put it in a special box so it wouldn’t be smashed in transit. By the time I mailed it, it would’ve been cheaper buy a plane ticket and deliver it in person, but I figured I would be paid back with a lifetime supply of hair bows for my daughter.
Three weeks later, while I was still waiting for my bows to arrive, I got another letter from my friend on the same stationary. This time I had become a member of the Dishtowel Club. According to the letter I had three days to find a decorative towel and mail it to the first person on the list or something very unlucky would happen to me.
When I finally had time to go to the store to get a dishtowel, the deadline had almost expired. I quickly grabbed the first one I saw and rushed it to the post office. Then I spent enough money to buy 10 towels, plus a new dishwasher, on overnight delivery so it would arrive on time and prevent certain disaster.
A few days later, I began wondering where all of my gifts were so the next time I saw the mailman, I approached him and asked if he had any packages for me. He shook his head and handed me a letter instead.
“No!” I pleaded. “Take it back. I’ll give you anything you want! I box of hair bows! Matching dish towels! A gold watch! A car!”
He nodded knowingly. “Another chain letter, huh?”
This time the letter informed me I was in the Recipe Club and had five days to send the top person the directions for making a traditional family dish. I considered it for a moment, then tore the instructions off the back of a Bisquick box and stuffed it into an envelope.
The final straw came when I became inducted into the Quilting Club and had to find a square of fabric to send to the first person on the list. I looked through my sewing kit, but all I could find were a few pins, a roll of scotch tape, and a stapler. It became clear that the only one gaining anything from distributing chain letters was the postal service, so I threw away the note and went into my daughter’s room and got a piece of paper and a stamp. Then I wrote:
Dear Friend,
THIS IS YOUR LUCKY DAY!
Make one wish, and then send this note to everyone you know and it will come true. However never, EVER, send another chain letter to the person who sent this to you. If you neglect to do this, your wish won’t come true, hideous things will happen to the backs of your thighs and you will have bad luck for a year, and maybe longer.
Sincerely,
Debbie
P.S. Plus, your good veins will turn purple and you’ll get facial hair.
As I put it in the envelope, and carried it down the driveway to the mailbox, I knew I finally had a chain letter worth sending at last.
