Yesterday was my sister’s birthday, so naturally I bought a gift for her 2 weeks ago and procrastinating sending it until ON her birthday. Also? My sis-in-law’s birthday was 5 days earlier and I had her stuff to mail as well. I’m awesome like that.
So I did what I always do…took a picture of the tardy presents as proof, texted them both a “Happy Birthday” apology, piled up all the various & sundry items and walked into the UPS store like a hobo. A focused, late, thoughtful hobo who shops at Target.
I enter the empty store where two bored-with-each-other employees were overwhelmingly thrilled to meet all my shipping needs RIGHT THEN. However, I had one more thing to accomplish before I could step to the register. I made a beeline for the birthday cards. Usually I am very friendly to store folk, traffic partners and all myriad of strangers, but today I am on a mission and afraid my phone will die before I can get the addresses written down on the overstuffed mailing envelopes. So I may have been a smidge cold and leave-me-alone-ish upon entry. And possibly the entire time I was there.
I began looking through a rack of overpriced dog-themed happy birthday cards and the female employee–so overjoyed to be finally be ticking off a task from her job description– attempts to helpfully point out that these are the “summer” birthday cards and there are more racks of birthday cards “over there.” I nod, annoyed, and thank her, picking the first two that I find (since it’s July and all, I was perfectly fine with the SUMMER BIRTHDAY CARD selection thankyouverymuch).
Then it was time to package my treasures in overpriced bubble-wrapped envelopes with a festive décor since in my haste and delay I hadn’t wrapped them. As I quickly scratched a heartfelt memoir and gleeful wishes for the day on each newly purchased card, Miss Helpful piped up yet again: “What are you planning to wrap that melamine superhero tumbler in?” Clearly annoyed, and truly needing no further assistance UNTIL I step to the counter, I ever-so-not-at-all sweetly replied, “This nightshirt. Why? It’s a plastic cup.” Miss Trained-Extensively-To-Pack-Stuff helpfully explained that though it is widely known that those cups are practically unbreakable, it would be smart to buy some bubble wrap. She’s just saying…
I’m just ignoring, nodding, and probably rolling my eyes a twee bit.
So I put myself under her wise authority in no fathomable way and replied, “I was trying to decide whether or not to send it at all. So I just won’t send it. At all.” Don’t even get me started on the fingernail polish that was going in as well. Happy birthday TO ME.
Finally, I am able to put the finishing touches on each card, stick them in the packages for each gift and begin packing the envelope for Sis-In-Law. It was a book and some kicky socks. I open to book to see if I should write an inscription, and lo what cards through yonder book flap break. It is the birthday cards that I purchased a month ago. And I have just written in the UPS STORE-SUMMER EDITION-DOGGIES-IN-CONVERTIBLES cards. Of course I have.
So it turns out I AM organized. Who knew? So what shall I do, but write a WHOLE EXPLANATION on each ORIGINALLY PURCHASED card for why there are TWO $3 birthday cards in your present. (Because I am a flake, that’s why).
Happy Birthday. We’re related. Good luck with that.