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September 29, 2005

Dear God, Make it Stop

On Monday I spent two hours at my local Target trying to find a birthday card for my father. TWO. HOURS. The experience left me with two conclusions:

Conclusion #1: There is a huge card market out there for families of divorce

I don’t know why no-one’s gotten on this. Create a line of cards that acknowledge events without conveying false sentiments of brimming love or wishes for success and a company could make a KILLING.

I just couldn’t find a card that says, “Happy Birthday. Thanks for being a good dad when I was growing up, but I have no idea who the hell you are now.” Or, “On your birthday, may all your wishes come true. Except for your lawsuit against Mom.”

The simplest one I found displayed a 3-D paper cake and read, “Your cake.” on the front. Inside it continued, “Have it. Eat it. Enjoy it. Happy Birthday.” It was very pretty and I liked it, except every time I read it in my mind it went like this, “Your cake. Have it. Eat it. Choke on it. Happy Birthday.”

In the end I went for a splashy-colored card that showed a beer mug with candles coming out the top, and read “Think outside the cake”.

Conclusion #2 Never go shopping without my Sharper Image sound soother

I love this thing beyond all other possessions because when I was working, I could click on the beautiful white noise of the ocean, the waterfalls, the rainforest or ten other variations in order drown out the endless yammering of my coworkers talking about their dogs, their dogs’ birthday parties, their dogs’ psycho-traumas, their dogs Days of Our Lives all. day. long.

Standing in Target or any public place in Utah, one is literally surrounded by hordes of children at all times. Screaming children. Crying children. OBNOXIOUS children. And no matter where you go, you can’t get away. Leave one kid freaking out in the shoe section and run into another just five feet away. Flee to the book nook and find four new mothers leading a newborn wailing troupe.

They howl and whine and carry on for god knows how long because they’re at it when they come into hearing range and still at it when they’re wheeled out. Mommy saying all the while, “Now, Timmy, it isn’t nice to yell.”

30 minutes of this and I’m dying to smack the first person within reach.

  • Maximum-Strength Tylenol: $5.50
  • Non-committal birthday card: $3.75
  • Not having to take the “my children hate me” guilt-trip: priceless

© 2005, jules.maas. All rights reserved.

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