Whenever my mother said, “Far be it for me to say anything about …” You knew she felt just the opposite; and sure enough, she’d launch into talking about someone or something like a dog.
“Far be it for me…” I heard myself say to Sig this morning, “to talk about someone’s idiosyncracies but that letter to Dear Ann is stupid.” Though he is as interested in the topic as in hearing how to decorate with plaids, he arranges his face to resemble attentive.
So, this person writes to ask,”How long should I keep cards I’ve gotten for holidays, birthdays and so on?” Her dilemma comes from feeling guilty about throwing cards away when she knows her friends have spent time and money picking them out just for her.
I continue, “Not only is the question stupid, the answer is baaad.” She is told to gather up her cards and take them to a school or senior citizen home to recycle into crafts. A mild warning was stuck on for good measure: cut out any addresses, both yours and the senders before you drop them off.
“OMG, so maybe the lady has hoarding tendencies, but who says she is a dummy? Someone is getting paid for this drivel!”
“Hmm” Sig says, “Keeps them out of the landfill for a while longer.” I look at him and realize that he will never understand that dissing only works when there are two or more players. It’s kinda like the tango.