Tuesday, 16 June 2015

Deborah... 25% off Father's Day Cards!!!

Yeah.

Just the one slight problem with that isn't there Funky Pigeon? You shower of bastards. You insensitive dicknoses. You mean, mean card company.

Except they're not mean. No meaner than any other money grabbing corporate entity anyway.

It's just what happens this time of year.

Father's Day when your dad is dead is a bummer. It really is. For about six weeks before the Big Day, shops and websites goad you. The first few years after Dad died, I couldn't even walk around a supermarket at this time of year. It's amazing just how many products are sucked into the gaping maw of tat people are encouraged to buy their dads on Father's Day. Fucking everything.

And it's a little stab. Dad, Dad, Dad, Father, Father, Father, DAD, DAD, DAD.

I admit for the first year after he died it felt like the entire world was CROWING in my FACE about how wonderful it is to have a dad that's, you know, breathing. And how much I miss him. And god it hurts. It hurts enough just to breathe in and out every day without seeing I LOVE MY DADDY emblazoned on every cocking thing you look at.

But it is the way of our advertisement saturated world. It's something that you just don't even notice until someone dies. And then it's taunting you, with its weird nostalgia tinged regret that you'll never need to buy another Father's Day card ever again. Not as long as you live. Isn't that a weird thought? Weirder still is the fact that I still have the one that I made Dad when I was about five.

It's a crappy children's drawing of a heart and it says: I LOVE MY DADDY on it.

And it's true. I did love my daddy. I still love my daddy. And, as I am now into the 15th year of dealing with this shit, I can go shopping at this time of year. And I can receive emails into my inbox suggesting all the things I could and should buy for my father.

And it's sort of OK.

I guess that's progress.

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