When I was employed and therefore a little more flush with cash, I donated to quite a few charities. These weren’t big amounts individually, but collectively, it was decent. The groups ranged from animals to kids to veterans and lots in between. I was happy to do what I could and I look forward to being able to contribute again in the future.

What I don’t like are the address labels. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? It seems that every organization I have ever contributed to thinks that I write letters like some lovesick Victorian heroine. (Or maybe a really slutty one with lots of suitors.) In any case, no one, Victorian slut or not, could send out enough mail to possibly use all the address labels that I have in my possession.

I have ones with kittens and puppies. There are the patriotic ones featuring the flag or the Statue of Liberty. I have enough Norman Rockwell renderings to make him turn into Mark Rothko in protest. It’s maddening but what can I do?

It’s not like I’m going to start mailing more things. These charities didn’t give me free stamps, now did they? It’s time consuming blacking them all out with a marker. I can’t shred them. Have you ever had stickers gum up your shredder? Yeah. Not pretty. After all, I have enough of the fundraising letters to shred.

Speaking of those for a minute, I don’t appreciate the guilt that some of the charities resort to when they send you address labels, greeting cards, gift wrapping paper or other unsolicited items. You know, the first sentence starts out, “We hope that you received the beautiful ____________ that we sent to you recently.” Then, the letter proceeds to tell some story that makes you cry until you see the suggested donation amount for the unrequested items. This amount is always more than you’d pay for the items on your own.

Hey, I know that times are especially tough for charities at the moment. But, they need to realize that times are tough for many of us too. If I gave in the past but you notice that I haven’t given lately, it’s probably not because I’ve become Ebenezer Scrooge or an obstructionist politician. I CAN’T GIVE RIGHT NOW. Get it? Don’t try to guilt me, people. I survived 12 years of Catholic school with nuns who could make Gandhi feel like a glutton with an eating disorder. Okay?

You know, I just thought of a way to get rid of these annoying labels and make money. Modern art! Hell, if people paid Jackson Pollock to splatter paint, they can damn well pay me to fill up some canvases with puppies and kittens and flags. Oh my!