Playing Your Cards Wrong

Everyone hates the Hallmarks of the world to begin with, since they take perfectly nice events and crap them all up by forcing us to send everyone we know a greeting card of some kind to commemorate it.

Seriously, I’m sick of feeling guilty because I forgot to send Mom an Arbor Day card.

And now? Well, now they’ve gone straight off the deep end.

It’s not enough that there are cards tailored specifically to Mom, Dad, Bro, Sis, Aunt, second cousin and whoever else you might know. Or that you can actually get cards that indicate they're from your pets (most of whom, incidentally, would not even be able to reach that high on the card rack!).

Now some lady is coming out with cards for your mistress or other man. Are you kidding me? I don’t want to go all Nell Carter up in here, but gimme a break.

What are the cutesy poems in these cards going to sound like?

I just wanted to send you a note to say
Doing you at the Motel 6 made my day!
You’re the best thing I’ve got in my life,
If you don’t count my family and wife!
Happy Mistress Day!

People, this is what they make BLANK cards for, not that I have any idea why your mistress or other man (side note: why don’t we have a special word for that?) needs a card in the first place.

What, everyone you exchange bodily fluids with should get a piece of thin, folded cardboard as reassurance that you care?

Maybe hookers can start buying cards for their customers, too, while we’re at it. How would that be for a Dear John letter? *rimshot* (Frightening side note: that’s two entries in a row with the mention of hookers. What's goin' on here?)

But back to the point, which is that cards suck. Except birthday cards. And I only say this because my birthday is just nine days away. Bring 'em on!