My soul curls up in the corners when I buy greeting cards.
Something in me balks at the convention, the grocery store rack of suggested sentiments, the playing GO FISH. Pluck one out. Crack it open. Scan, shake my head, set it back. Over and over until I find a match. A skeleton key. A few lines that unlock, sort of, the fuzzy things tucked low in the heart.
I hate the pressure, on a prescribed day of the year, to rouse all the right feelings. To re-visit everything that’s been implied (hopefully), and verbalized (hopefully), and (most importantly, most hopefully) shown on the other 364.
Worst: the scalping. $4.49 for that pinch of poetry?
I’m exaggerating only slightly. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer and feel a certain dominion over words, a pride in telling them how to march, Forward! Maybe it’s because it feels non-intimate, having to bridge hearts with heavy cardstock. Maybe it’s because there are only ever two flavors: Silly-sarcastic and saccharine-sweet.
Would you prefer a good giggle, or to avail yourself of a pocket-pack Kleenex?
Mother’s Day: Funny
Mother’s Day: Sentimental
I need to find Mom a Mother’s Day card, but where is it?Continue Reading