In case it has escaped your notice, it is Valentine's Day tomorrow. I only know this because I was in a card shop on Wednesday when a young lady said to the assistant: 'I know it's against the spirit of the thing, but do you sell Valentine's cards in multi-packs?' I could see her point. When you're young, why put all your bets on one horse?
It reminded me that from about the ages of five to 10, I used to get a card every year. I now realise my mystery admirer was my maiden aunt who lived next door. Then when I got to secondary school age, she didn't send one. Which really upset me. When I was 12, I had a big padded card with a donkey on the front from a genuine admirer, who couldn't even spell my name properly. I was so embarrassed, I hid it in a drawer. I was worried my mother would find it. She is a stickler for spelling and grammar.
I'm not very romantic. Bit of a cold fish really. I used to get a bit tearful at the J R Hartley advert for Yellow Pages, although I always smiled at the way he pronounced 'old' in the line: 'it is rather old'. However, Mr Grigg, despite his gruff exterior, is a great big softy. He buys the slushiest cards he can find, with huge lettering on the front: 'To my wonderful wife' and then some naff poem inside. I'm touched, but he knows I find it hard not to vomit. But the time he wrote me his own poem inside a card, well, that was romantic.
So as I searched the racks for a suitable card for my own Valentine, I found it really difficult. So I plumped for the comedy option. It's actually a birthday card, but I'll cross that out. I also got another more suitable 'art' card (but defintely without verse) in case he gets upset. But for me, in this village, it was just a classic. As I will be giving him the card tomorrow, please don't say anything. But here's a sneak preview:
Happy Valentine's Day!
That's about it,
Love Maddie x
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That's about it. Love Maddie x