No, I didn’t bring a bottle of table red that’s going to sit unopened on Dave & Tammy’s wet bar for the next six months. No, I also did not bring fresh flowers from the farmers market. Those things are crawling with insects. I brought my signature offering: my fierce-as-fuck greeting card game.
Giving a card is an experience. Selecting the perfect one is a skill. In my case, it’s a fucking calling.
I can see you rolling your eyes over there, Marcy. I was at Lisa’s baby shower—your card played a robotic rendition of Oooh Baby, Baby when opened. I guess I didn’t realize you GAVE ZERO SHITS, MARCY. A human life was being formed in Lisa’s womb, preparing to crown its way into the world. The least you can do is opt for something on soft linen parchment to create a warm, inviting vibe with ample space on which to inscribe a line from your favorite childhood book. Gender neutral. Obviously.
Oh, hey, Kevin! Thanks for that sympathy card. Having Spot put down was a very difficult decision, but I certainly took great comfort in that poem about getting to play fetch in Heaven. Typed in APPLE CHANCERY. Did you purchase it at a Hallmark from 1993?!? Hope you racked up lots of Gold Crown points. Here’s a pro tip: If your recipient is under 40, keep your serifs simple and save the poems for your next “slam.”
Laurie! Oh, you got my wedding card? And it was the only one that wasn’t a duplicate? Gosh, what luck! There is no other card-giving occasion more prone to duplicate cards than a wedding. I’m assuming you knew that. A fierce card-giver has no choice—you have to go letterpress, or it’s not even worth it. Your best bet is always a local shop specializing in handmade items. Expect to pay no less than nine dollars. This is basically the crux of my fucking sick card selection.
Well, I should really get going. Tammy—thank you so much for having me over. Be sure to say thanks to Dave too—oh wait, you won’t need to—I wrote that in the thank you card. THAT I ALREADY SENT.
