I’ve always been in the habit of sending greeting cards (the
ones still printed on actual paper) not only for people’s birthdays and
anniversaries, but also for holidays like Christmas, Easter and
Thanksgiving.
But nowadays it’s becoming more and more of a challenge to
pick out a great card. For one thing, I can’t tell you how many times I have
stood in front of a rack of greeting cards and searched for just the right one
until my back muscles were in such knots, my legs went numb. And then, after
finally finding what I considered to be the “perfect” card, I’d flip it over
and see a price of $6.99.
Let me tell you, when you’re someone who grew up buying
cards for only 25 cents each, a price like $6.99 is enough to
induce severe lightheadedness. After all, a card is nothing but a
piece of folded paper. For that price, I could by an entire ream.
And buying cards is even more difficult and complicated
nowadays due to all of the emphasis on political correctness. I enjoy buying
humorous cards and they, of course, just happen to be considered the most
likely to be offensive.
Years ago, I simply would go into a store, grab a card and
if it made me laugh I’d buy it. Now, however, I find myself carefully analyzing
everything about the card. Can the wording be misinterpreted or
misconstrued and be considered offensive? Does the photo or illustration signify
something other than its intended meaning? Or even worse, does the card have
some hidden, underlying message I’m too prehistoric to understand?
It’s downright scary.
Take, for example, when I recently was searching for a
humorous anniversary card to send to my friend and her husband. There was one
that featured artwork of a couple posing in positions similar to those of
body-builders.
The man and woman were dressed like Tarzan and Jane, but the male had a big pot-belly and super skinny legs with knobby knees, and the woman had saggy boobs, an abundance of cellulite and bare feet the size of canoes. And for some unknown reason, a chimpanzee displaying a shocked expression was sitting behind the guy and looking up at his butt. The card wished a happy anniversary to the “King and Queen of the Jungle.”
I laughed at the image and was ready to bring the card to the checkout, but then a few doubts crept into my head and I hesitated. My first thought was if I sent that card to my friend and her husband, would they think I was insulting their appearance? And could referring to their homestead as a "jungle" be misinterpreted that I think their house looks or smells like the monkey cage at the zoo?
The more overthinking I did, the more “what ifs” I came up with, until I decided to buy a nice, generic-looking card with flowers on the front and only “Wishing a wonderful couple a very happy anniversary!” on the inside.
No, not at all humorous…but safe.
And then there was the humorous birthday card I also decided
against, even though I’m ashamed to admit it did make me laugh. The card
purposely was made to look as if it had been lying on the floor and stepped on.
Inside, it said, “Sorry for the condition of this card, but I just grabbed it
and ran because the customer next to me farted!”
However, without any warning, a little “politically correct”
voice suddenly popped into my head and said, “Are you really sure you want to
buy that card? Someone might think you’re making fun of people who suffer from
stomach ailments that cause embarrassing and uncontrollable gaseousness in
public.”
So once again, I ended up choosing a “safe” alternative.
My friends probably are beginning to think I’m suffering
from a personality disorder that is robbing me of my sense of humor.
No…I’m just a coward.
But I don’t think I’m alone in my struggle to be more
politically correct when it comes to buying greeting cards. Not long ago I was
in one of the area pharmacies and suddenly remembered I had to find a
birthday card for one of my friends and mail it out right away or she wouldn’t
receive it in time. I headed over to the greeting-card aisle, and there,
standing in front of the exact section I wanted (humorous birthday), was a man
with a little girl who looked about five or six.
I pretended to be interested in some adjacent get-well cards
as I waited for him to select a card and move on. But after five minutes, I
began to get the feeling I was in for a long wait.
“Daddy!” the little girl whined. “Hurry up!”
“I can’t find the right card,” he said, picking up yet
another one and slowly studying it.
“But you already read every one of them!” she protested.
“I know, but I didn’t find a good one for Mommy yet, so I’m
going to read them all over again,” he said.
I figured I’d better shop for the other things I needed and
then return.
Ten minutes later, I still was circling the greeting-card
aisle…and the guy and his daughter still were there. I was beginning to
feel like a vulture waiting for something to drop dead.
Finally, I decided to give the father a not-so-subtle hint.
I moved right next to him and reached in front of him, excusing myself and
grabbing birthday cards at random in case there was a slim chance I might be
lucky enough to find a decent one. If I didn’t, I figured I’d probably still be
there at closing time.
“They’re all pretty bad,” the guy said to me in a tone that
told me I should value his opinion and not even bother to look at any of the
cards.
The little girl scowled at her father, then grabbed a card
and moved toward me. “Can you read this pretty one for me?” she asked.
I guess she’d totally given up on him ever succeeding in
finding a card by then and was hoping I would intervene.
I took the card, which had a photo of dozens of colorful
candles all ablaze on the front and read it to her. It said, “Hey, babe, if you
want to have a really hot time on your birthday, just wait until I get there!”
“I like it!” the little girl fairly squealed with delight.
“That’s the one I’m getting for Mommy!”
“Um…” I said, “I don’t think this one is the best card for
you to give to your mother.”
“Yes it is!” she insisted. “I want to give her that one!”
Her father snatched the card out of my hand. “No. You’re not
giving this one to Mommy.”
“It might be a good one for you to give to
her, though,” I blurted out, chuckling, hoping to help him finally choose a
card.
“No, that wouldn’t work,” he said, not looking the least bit
amused. “We’re divorced. I’m a single parent.”
Oops.
Maybe if I live to be about 110, I'll finally get the hang of all of this politically correct stuff.
# # #
Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated humor columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net.
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