There are few things left in the world that are absolutes: death, taxes, mini dogs in purses and a birthday card in the mail from your grandma. I always look forward to those saccharine, glitter-encrusted cards, invariably (but lovingly) sealed in a pink envelope. When I was little there would be a dollar bill for however old I was that year, but since that tradition went kaput when I turned, like 12, I grew to appreciate the sweet little notes scrawled inside. But nonetheless, I anticipated the blissful arrival of a card in the days leading up to my birthday, a small, physical token acknowledging the day of my birth, glitter and all.
Imagine my shock when I didn’t receive a single birthday card in the mail this year. Not one envelope fluttered through my mail slot, not a single telltale swatch of pastel peeked out from between junk catalogs and bills. Each day that came and went sans birthday card, my anxiety climbed a little higher- maybe the post office lost it! Maybe she mis-addressed it!- and finally, the penultimate day before B-Day, I came to the grim realization that no birthday card was coming.
And then, right when I thought my Granny had gone and forgotten my birthday, I received the following text message:
HAPPY BD, ❤ YA, G-MA
Huh….Not what I was expecting, but in it’s own way so much better than a card. Even though I did kind of miss the glitter and singing kittens.