Committees suck.

There's a saying in advertising: Design by committee.

Basically, it's when a group of people get out of control and botch up a perfectly good design for no apparent reason other than they want to have an opinion.

And "it's good," isn't a good enough opinion.

Beautiful things die by means of fear. Good ideas get buried in meaningless words. And hard work never gets the recognition it deserves; it just gets reworked until it's unrecognizable and looks like a five-minute combination of fonts and colors.

And it's not just advertising that melts at the temperture of group mentality.

Committees ruin ideas. Propositions. Careful planning.

Everything.

And even when a committee isn't consulted, one sprouts up anyway.

And I'm left staring at a computer screen wondering where to start. All over again.

Thanks for the Christmas card, stranger.

Back when Cooter and I were inviting people to our wedding, we ran into the same problem so many couples face.

Mom and Dad want to invite everyone from here to the moon, no matter how well (or unwell) they knew these people.

I can safely say that my Dad invited at least ten people whom he barely knew. At one point, he even said, "I think that's her last name."

Why invite people who are practically strangers? I have no idea. But he was paying and we had to oblige.

Anyway, there's one couple's name that kept popping up. Because every time our expending family would look at the invite list, they would ask, "Who are Jane and John Doe?" (Obviously, I changed the names.) And a every time, Cooter and I would say, "We have no clue. [Dad] invited them."

And most of the time, Dad couldn't remember who they were either.

Again, why were they invited to our wedding?

Chances are, they had no clue in hell who I was. And no clue in the largest circle of hell who Cooter was. But they feel like they should know us now, because we got a Christmas card from them. Picture and all.

And still, even after seeing their smiling faces, we have no idea who these people are.

Oh well. Nice to know that even as strangers, we're worth a 48 cent stamp.

You smell wonderful.

Someone who smelled very good stood here not long ago. 

I know absolutely nothing about this person. Not his or her gender, hair color, sense of humor. But I know what this person smells like. 

And I like how he or she smells. It's clean like soap. But sophisticated with light floral notes. But friendly and with a hint of fruit. 

I like how the scent of this person lingered in the hallway just for me. And then surprised me again in the elevator, one of six which could have answered my call.

You smell great, stranger who once stood here. And I feel we would get along famously.