17 Jan
Where’s My Happy MLK Jr. Card?

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

My sister is obsessed with greeting cards.   She sends them to us on every occasion and is offended when we don’t reciprocate.

Is it unreasonable of her to call me and say, “I didn’t get my ____ card?”   Am I really obligated to send an adult woman a “Happy Easter, I hope the bunny leaves you something special” card?


Cardless in Ohio


Dear Cardless,

Why couldn’t we have been sisters?   Because I, too, don’t like greeting cards and see them as a waste of money.   A glossy, glittery waste of money that makes people feel loved and cared for, apparently.

But here’s what I learned:   I, like you, have some people in my life who see merit to these cards that you and I don’t.   They enjoy receiving them, reading them, turning them over to confirm that it’s a Hallmark, and in some extreme cases, even displaying them.  I don’t get it, but I love these people and if it takes a few dollars every month or so to send them a card so that they feel remembered, important and loved, I’m willing to do it.  Except when I forget, of course.  And then I send an email with the obligatory, “I don’t know how Arbor Day slipped away from me this year, but I hope you had a woody one!”   (Yes, it gets a little dicey.)

The good news is that we are not alone, so there are quiet a few websites that not only send e-cards absolutely free of charge, but send you a constant stream of reminders about when the next card should be sent.  Personally, I’m worried that it’s going to make marriage extinct, as that is usually the wife’s job.

Good luck to you.

And have the merriest of Martin Luther King Jr. days!

Marinka, TMH

7 Responses to “Where’s My Happy MLK Jr. Card?”


Comment by Alexandra.

I love cards. I let my husband know I love cards. They don’t have to be Hallmark, just white paper folded in half with some writing, preferably black ink.

That’s all.

But I love it.

We could not be married, Marinka, please stop asking.



Comment by Sally.

With the cost of printed greeting cards on the rise, I resort to e-cards most of the time. When I want a “real” paper card, there are lots of ways to create on with your computer. Even MS Word will make them.


Comment by Plano Mom.

My husband was upset this year after his birthday? Homemade dinner, in keeping with his restricted diet? Check. Presents, although not ordered in time, on their way and exactly what he wanted? Check. Other birthday related perks? Definitely in check. His regret? No one gave him a card on his birthday except his parents, and they gave him a store bought card (some people actually prefer the handmade ones).

It was a challenging day for our therapist, but we did get to a point where we could acknowledge and appreciate ALL ways of showing love, not just a card.

But my point is, your sister has decided that cards are how you show love. Either go along with it and show her love, or find another way to show it to her. That’s all she’s looking for. Hopefully you won’t need a therapist.


Comment by Lynn MacDonald.

I know someone who sends me ecards constantly along with birthday greetings and other assorted cards. I don’t do jack shit…she’s welcome to stop whenever she wants but I’m not changing. To each his own. ’nuff said!


Comment by NotJustAnotherJennifer.

I’m a card person. Regular mail sucks – bills and ads. Nothing like getting a card. That said, I make most of mine, so I can create any holiday I want to. 🙂


Comment by Deb Rox.

Card people frighten me because it is obvious they think ahead. They plot that stuff weeks in advance. Some of them have special binders to organize all of their cards and birthdates. It’s chilling, really, to see that kind of premeditation in action. Absolutely chilling. God only knows what else they are already plotting.


Comment by dusty earth mother.

My sister is a manic card sender. I subscribe to my mother’s practice: she writes her holiday cards after Christmas, puts them in envelopes, steps on them so they look dirty and then claims that they must have gotten lost in the mail. Word up, Mama Rose.

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