My mom found out that a friend had a death in the family. She said she needed to go get a sympathy card. I told her I have several. Apparently there was a time when I thought many, many people would be dying. Maybe it was during Y2K. Maybe I was just having a really bad week. I don't think I was planning on going on a murdering spree, but I can't be expected to remember how homicidal I was or wasn't at any given time of my life. Whatever the reason, at some point I reasonably expected a lot of deaths and prepared for this Grim Reaper marathon by buying in bulk.
I told her I had all these cards, but that they weren't very good. She said they're all pretty much the same and there are no 'good' or 'bad' ones. I said they really all SHOULD be the same, the exact same, as in:
Someone you loved died.
You feel sad.
I'm sorry.
She said, "Do you remember when I used to tell you that you should write greeting cards for a living? Forget I ever said that."
Having to scratch another potential occupation off my What should I do when I grow up? list, now I think I need a card that says something like:
Daughter,
Sometimes you should spread your wings and fly as high as you can, but other times you should do us all a favor and get burned up by the sun. This would be one of the burny times."
See? I knew they weren't all the same.
Queen of my own Magic Kingdom, full of all the irreverent, obnoxious, and sometimes offensive sarcasm you know and love. I don't care what people think of me, but I do care if you like my blog. Read, forward, repeat.
