97% of all the greeting cards I’ve ever received from men were from those who either wanted to fuck me or had fucked me.
Now, I’m imagining a handful of my more delicate readers wincing at “the language”. What is it my parents say? That I sound like a fishwife?
If wiki can be trusted on the matter, the term “fishwife” stems from Old English and refers specifically to a “woman” (not a “wife”) whose outspokenness is attributable to the fact that her wares are highly perishable and lose value if not sold quickly. (Oh the metaphor in that.) Good. Maybe I am a modern day fishwife. There are worse things to be.
This morning during my eyes-half-awake-skim of Twitter, I had a flash of panic: It’s Father’s Day tomorrow; I haven’t sent a card.
And then I thought about how many greeting cards I’ve chosen, purchased, signed, sealed & sent in my 42 years and I started feeling kind of bitter.
Because. Men. Don’t. Send. Cards. Ever.
Unless (as previously mentioned) there’s sex (the prospect, promise or memory of it) involved.
I would put money on the fact that IF you are a man who sends cards to his mother-grandmother-sister-daughter-aunt-secretary-assistant AND you’re in a romantic relationship with a woman, the woman in your life does the card choosing-purchasing-and-or-mailing. Did you sign it yourself? Maybe, but you didn’t lick the envelope, did you? News flash — we all know those cards are from the Lady of the House.
I would put money on the fact that IF you are a man who sends cards to his mother-grandmother-sister-daughter-aunt-secretary-assistant AND you’re single, you’re the 3% exception I mentioned above. You’ve been a bachelor for a long time, and you’re hoping to blend in to the mainstream despite being a Buddhist and a Trekkie.
I would put money on the fact that IF you are a man who DOESN’T send cards to his mother-grandmother-sister-daughter-aunt-secretary-assistant, you’re reading this thinking about all the money you’ve spent on said women.
It’s true. My father put me through college. My brother gave me the best (oh, thank you, K!) birthday gift of my whole life — The Wire: COMPLETE SERIES on DVD.
What’s up with greeting cards anyway? Aren’t paper and fuel driven messages passé at best, and — more accurately put — environmenatally irresponsible?
Don’t confuse this post with male bashing. Men, you’re not to blame, I don’t think. There’s something endemic about it. Something about how boys are raised — or is it genetic? God, I’m so poorly read on this subject. But I know what I see.
And I’m tired of going out of my way to generate unnecessary offerings for members of an entire gender who usually do not reciprocate.
So here’s Father’s Day 2012:
Dad, I love you; I’m grateful for all the acts of selflessness you performed in order to give me a good life; I hope you have a wonderful day. I can’t wait to see you next month.
Brother, you’re an awesome Dad. Watching you parent has been one of the highlights of my life; your children have been my greatest gifts. Thank you.
There. Paper saved.