Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve just gotten back from the supermarket where I bought Mother’s Day cards for Helaine. That’s right. 2:30 PM on Mother’s Day and I was at Stop and Shop with the other losers.
Helaine has been out-of-town most of the week. There was no rush to get them. Still, this really is leaving it to the last minute… and for the others I saw (judging from the look on their faces) beyond the last minute.
Only guys wait this long. I saw no women buying cards.
As I walked into the store, there was a small display right at the entrance! For those of us who enter the market twice a year – easily found! I decided to venture to the ‘normal’ card section, where there might be a larger selection.
I started looking, flanked by husbands on either side. To my left was a guy with the expression Mary Tyler Moore made famous as she tossed meat into a supermarket cart. To my right, another sad guy was looking through the cards dedicated to mothers who aren’t your mother or your wife, but maybe you have some kids together… sorta.
I assume there are cards for every possible peripheral connection to motherhood. Mr. Hallmark is no fool. Even I know, e-cards may be fine for many occasions, but not Mother’s Day.
When I was a kid, greeting cards were 15¢. Mr. Hallmark is making up for all his lost Internet revenue directly through me. I was shocked when I saw the prices, but today’s not the day to chince out¹.
I found my cards and headed to the checkout. Under these circumstances, I didn’t want to be publicly outed, so I headed to the self check. Helaine says these are no faster – but I was after anonymity, not speed.
The cards are now home. Helaine just called from the airport. Soon she will be home.
You might be wondering, ‘why are you writing this?’ After all, without this written proof, it might look like the cards were bought on Thursday… maybe earlier.
Don’t you think my wife knows me well enough to know I never do anything before deadline? Plus, I suspect she knows how much I love her. The cards are a reminder of my love, not the revelation of a new concept.
¹ – There is no word chince – or so says the dictionary. Since I was a kid, I have used the expression, “chince out,” meaning: the act of being cheap. Maybe I just heard it wrong as a kid, or am spelling it wrong as an adult. Any assistance will be appreciated.