It was the fifth grade and I was “going with” a girl named Amy. My pre-teen gawkiness was at its peak that year because my old elementary school had merged with a new one. The transition to new surroundings, combined with my awkward insecurities, made for a rough time. We now had two of everything—double the number of popular kids, jocks, troublemakers and of course, nerds. I had been hovering near the bottom of my old school’s social hierarchy and was finding myself slipping even lower in this new one.
Despite my social stature, I had managed to meet a girl. At the tender age of 10, Amy was cunning enough to know that she had me wrapped around her finger, and she seemed to relish wielding her power over me. Amy would agree to go with me only to unceremoniously dump me a few days later. The next day she would take me back and the cycle continued. One night we would spend the evening talking on the phone (which was probably only about 15 minutes, but at the time it seemed like the whole night), and the next day she would totally ignore me. Of course, this only made me crazier about her. I had already made a habit of crushing on girls who were completely uninterested in me. Amy was the first girl to like me back, even though for the most part she didn’t treat me very well.
Valentine’s Day was approaching and Amy and I were in a good place. We had been together for almost two weeks without her breaking up with me, so I was feeling really good about our relationship. Notes were passed. Stickers were traded. Hands were tentatively held for brief, but shining moments. Based on our tenuous past, I knew that I had to make a big splash for Valentine’s Day. I bought her a card that was sweet, but didn’t scream “desperate”, and a box of colored pencils.
That afternoon the phone rang. Before the words were even spoken, I could tell it was coming. I had learned to recognize the tone on her voice. She broke up with me…again. But this time it was permanent.
I went through what I would later learn was the normal range of emotions after a painful dumping. I was hurt, but I was also angry. I mean, come on, couldn't she have waited just one more day? If she had only seen the effort I put into her Valentine's Day gift, she might have changed her mind. I spent the rest of the day wallowing in the "what ifs".
There were no great lessons to be learned from this, except for the obvious fact that heartbreak hurts. It hurts even more on Valentine’s Day. It would be a long time before I realized that bad times make the good times better—sweet doesn’t exist without sour. Every so often on Valentine’s Day, as WonderWife™ and I uphold our tradition of eating fried chicken with a really good bottle of wine, I think about how Amy broke my heart so long ago, and I wonder if today is just a little bit better because of that.
Showing posts with label greeting cards. Show all posts
Showing posts with label greeting cards. Show all posts
Friday, February 13, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Cake and Cards
I left work early so that I could eat cake with my son.
The day before my birthday, the Bean was rather upset to learn I was not planning on having any birthday cake. To him birthdays = cake. This is the way the world works without question, just as the laws of physics dictate what goes up must come down and astronomy tells us that the earth is round. Which brought up the dilemma of when to have it. There was no way we were going to eat it at breakfast, for fear that every morning after would begin with a demand for cake instead of the traditional "cereal with milk." We couldn't wait until I normally got home, because that would mean the Bean would be eating his cake in the bathtub, just before bed, and there's too many things that could go wrong with that scenario. So fulfilling my son's birthday wish for me meant that I would leave the office early in order arrive home in time to catch the tail end of his dinner. Someday he’ll know how much I sacrifice for him.
Immediately upon entering the house, the Bean wished me a happy birthday and said, "It's time for cake!" WonderWife™ had three cupcakes sitting on a plate, waiting for us. So as the sun set on my birthday, I sat at the kitchen table with my family, eating cake before dinner.
Out of all of the cards I was given for my birthday, the one from the Bean was my favorite. WW™ says that he had already picked out a nice card with a monkey on it for me. But he apparently changed his mind as she was picking out her cards. The Bean grabbed one out of the rack and said, "I want to give this one to Daddy!"
I’m opening the card as WW™ is telling me this story only to find this:
The day before my birthday, the Bean was rather upset to learn I was not planning on having any birthday cake. To him birthdays = cake. This is the way the world works without question, just as the laws of physics dictate what goes up must come down and astronomy tells us that the earth is round. Which brought up the dilemma of when to have it. There was no way we were going to eat it at breakfast, for fear that every morning after would begin with a demand for cake instead of the traditional "cereal with milk." We couldn't wait until I normally got home, because that would mean the Bean would be eating his cake in the bathtub, just before bed, and there's too many things that could go wrong with that scenario. So fulfilling my son's birthday wish for me meant that I would leave the office early in order arrive home in time to catch the tail end of his dinner. Someday he’ll know how much I sacrifice for him.
Immediately upon entering the house, the Bean wished me a happy birthday and said, "It's time for cake!" WonderWife™ had three cupcakes sitting on a plate, waiting for us. So as the sun set on my birthday, I sat at the kitchen table with my family, eating cake before dinner.
_____________________
Out of all of the cards I was given for my birthday, the one from the Bean was my favorite. WW™ says that he had already picked out a nice card with a monkey on it for me. But he apparently changed his mind as she was picking out her cards. The Bean grabbed one out of the rack and said, "I want to give this one to Daddy!"
I’m opening the card as WW™ is telling me this story only to find this:
Friday, February 15, 2008
All That Glitters
On top of a stack of red envelopes I got yesterday was a valentine from my mom. Aw shucks, right? Except opening the envelope unleashed a cloud of glitter. It went everywhere. And of course, I was in bed at the time which means that there are now hundreds of little red specs preparing to strike while I sleep.
Glitter is one of the most diabolically evil things in this world. Glitter attacks with military precision in waves. The first attack is the most aggressive and does the most damage. This is the pile of glitter that falls off of a card or spills out of the envelope like anthrax. And while this is pretty bad, the second wave is worse. These are the sleeper agents, who can lay dormant and hide out for weeks until you’re out one night at a party an notice yourself sparkling with a few shimmering pieces of glitter that have adhered to your face.
It used to be that glitter was only relegated to arts and crafts or greeting cards. But in recent years, it has become a pervasive presence in society. You can find glitter in makeup and hair gel. It’s in glue and on clothing. Sometimes even in wedding invitations. It’s everywhere. Frankly, I blame rave culture whose high energy, pupil dilated dancing inhabitants have pushed the use of glitter further and further.
In the greeting card world, there is no bigger offender than Hallmark. It’s estimated that Hallmark uses glitter on one in every fifteen cards. This is not a high ratio, but enough to completely coat every single product in their racks with glitter. Picking out a card at Hallmark is like playing Russian Roulette. At some point, the card you pull up is going to be glittered. Even if you somehow manage to avoid the glitter cards, sleeper agents have adhered to every single other card and are hiding out in just about every corner of a Hallmark store. Just walking by one puts you at risk.
I know that the war against glitter is unwinnable, much like the war on drugs or the war on terror. The best I can hope for is to stay out of range of the enemy and live my life as peacefully and as glitter free as possible. Which these days, is an increasingly difficult thing to do.
Glitter is one of the most diabolically evil things in this world. Glitter attacks with military precision in waves. The first attack is the most aggressive and does the most damage. This is the pile of glitter that falls off of a card or spills out of the envelope like anthrax. And while this is pretty bad, the second wave is worse. These are the sleeper agents, who can lay dormant and hide out for weeks until you’re out one night at a party an notice yourself sparkling with a few shimmering pieces of glitter that have adhered to your face.
It used to be that glitter was only relegated to arts and crafts or greeting cards. But in recent years, it has become a pervasive presence in society. You can find glitter in makeup and hair gel. It’s in glue and on clothing. Sometimes even in wedding invitations. It’s everywhere. Frankly, I blame rave culture whose high energy, pupil dilated dancing inhabitants have pushed the use of glitter further and further.
In the greeting card world, there is no bigger offender than Hallmark. It’s estimated that Hallmark uses glitter on one in every fifteen cards. This is not a high ratio, but enough to completely coat every single product in their racks with glitter. Picking out a card at Hallmark is like playing Russian Roulette. At some point, the card you pull up is going to be glittered. Even if you somehow manage to avoid the glitter cards, sleeper agents have adhered to every single other card and are hiding out in just about every corner of a Hallmark store. Just walking by one puts you at risk.
I know that the war against glitter is unwinnable, much like the war on drugs or the war on terror. The best I can hope for is to stay out of range of the enemy and live my life as peacefully and as glitter free as possible. Which these days, is an increasingly difficult thing to do.
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