I have a problem. I cannot walk into a store that sells greeting cards and leave empty handed. The carousels and wall displays pull me in every time. Enticing me with vibrant colors, outrageous pictures, humorous or sentimental messages, glossy or textured papers.
I stock pile birthday cards for my loved ones. (I think I have at least the next three years covered for my fiance.)
I carefully squirrel away those that make me chuckle for my two best friends.
I put aside cards for encouragement, congratulations, condolences; knowing one day they’ll be needed.
I hide them in a drawer in my living room. I tuck them away at work. I stash them in my desk at home, my glove box, the gift wrap box in the garage, even the drawer in my bathroom.
Greeting cards are my drug of choice.