Greeting Cards

I hate shopping for greeting cards. When I send someone a card, it has to say something that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to actually say to that person. It has to have some remote connection to the way I feel. I started shopping for a card for my daughter-in-law weeks before her birthday this month. I devoted a lot of time to this project, reading hundreds of cards in numerous southwest Florida supermarkets and drugstores, while my ice cream melted and Charlie tapped his foot, only to leave each store frustrated and cardless.

“You’re telling me there isn’t one suitable card for our daughter-in-law in all the hundreds you just read?” Charlie would ask.

“That’s what I’m telling you.”

It seems that birthday cards fall into two broad categories. The first category includes cards with flowers, windmills, rainbows, kittens or puppies. And if the artwork isn’t enough to make you vomit, the inside verse will finish you off. These cards have more over the top cliches than a Danielle Steel novel. Category 1 cards make me sick, unless I happen to be the recipient of such a card. On the right day, when I’m sufficiently puffed up, I can be convinced that I do bring sunshine into every room I enter.

Category 2 cards are the funny cards, which I further divide into two sub-categories: the cards that are trying to be funny, written by people like your uncle Louie who has worn the same antler hat and flashing red nose to every Christmas party for the last 50 years, and a few cards that are truly funny. The funny cards are mostly “You know you’re old when...” cards.

In my experience, there’s a very small window of time when people actually appreciate receiving “old” cards. The window opens in your 40's, when you’re not really old yet, or you think you’re not, so there’s a tacit agreement that no one actually means it. The window starts to close in your mid-50's, and by the time a person turns 70, they’re downright insulting.

I’ve noticed that humor for the elderly consumer in Florida seems to be reverting back to 2nd grade bathroom jokes. There are lots of birthday cards about flatulence and incontinence. They even make jokes about dementia. I actually approve of those. At least the sentiments are real.

Which reminds me of the cards I used to whip up for my mother using cut up grocery bags and crayons. Like the one from the year she let her third driving permit expire without getting her licence, when she desperately wanted to learn to drive. It said:

Some Moms drive Jeeps,
Some Moms drive Hondas,
My Mom stays home
and makes me lasagna

I think I’ll go back to making my own cards.