Remember when I first landed on your desk concealed in a candy-apple red envelope? You were so full of hope and brimming with holiday cheer. You thought I was a card from the company containing news of a big, fat holiday bonus.

Visions of sugarplums and epic presents for your kids danced in your head as you tore the envelope open. Then you saw me and your breath hitched in horror like you just unwrapped a Gremlin.

Everything about me disgusted you, from the picture of the gelatinous, bulging ham on my front, to the “$15 value” tramp stamped on my back.

You picked the envelope back up and shook it, and a small note from your CEO drifted down to your desk like a snowflake: “Thanks for all the hard work this year. Happy Ham-i-days.”

It’s been a few weeks now and you won’t stop looking at me in contempt. Every time you open your wallet and see me, you scoff.

I’ve got to tell you, it’s not easy being me, either, bucko. I heard everyone in the break room saying I was “so not bonus material” and instead was the type of gift you give at Secret Santa when you draw someone you hate. I know some hams have a thick, briny skin, but not me, and that hurt like a knife to the hog maw.

Just remember, as you grit your teeth at me each time you see me poking my ham head out behind your credit cards, that It’s not my fault you didn’t get a real bonus. I’m just a small, meaty cog in the capitalist machine.

I wish you’d just swallow your pride and visit your local Honey Baked Ham already. Scan me to put me out of my misery. I understand you don’t eat pork for religious reasons, and I’m not enough to buy a full ham even if you did, but you could at least get a side like Honeybaked beans. Oh no, actually, those have ham, too. Maybe for $15 you could ask for a hambone for your nephew’s new Frenchbull dog puppy.

I can already tell you’re not going to spend me out of spite. I’ll sit imprisoned in this cheapo wallet year after year, long past my expiration date. One day you’ll throw me away alongside a Tropical Smoothie cafe punchcard and the number of a woman you were too nervous to call in 2007.

Perhaps instead of letting me fade into obscurity, you could re-gift me. Don’t you have any middling acquaintances that you owe a gift to? Perhaps a neighbor who watched your cat once or a failing situationship you’re about to ghost for the holidays?

I know someone out there would love me for who I ham. Haven’t you seen Christmas with the Kranks? Jamie Lee Curtis was nearly flattened by a truck to save a hickory honey ham.

Anyways, Happy Ham-i-days. Don’t spend me all in one place. Oh wait, you kind of have to.