Comics

Strangely, I've become one of those women who cuts comics out of newspapers and magazines and mails them to people.

I always thought this activity was reserved for mothers of adult children and perhaps elderly, doting aunts. 

But no. I see a cartoon strip that reminds me of someone and it's as if I'm driven by a deep, innate instinct beyond my control. I'm a Stepford Wife, I'm on automatic pilot, I'm a zombie marching inevitably to the scissors, the stationery, the envelope, the stamp. Must. Get. In. Mail. A.S.A.P.

Should you receive one of these odd little mailings from me, please don't regard it the same way you think of as junk or spam. Give me your empathy, your appreciation, or at least some pity. I have no children off at college to whom I might send care packages with cute little Dennis the Menaces or Family Circuses tucked neatly between the chocolate chip cookies and banana bread. I'm no maiden aunt, either (the plight of the only child). 

Since I have no one appropriate on whom to pawn this nascent urge, perhaps you can consider yourself - I don't know - lucky? It is personal - I wouldn't send it if it didn't remind me of you. Will it make you feel better if it's from The New Yorker? I'll do my very best. And think of yourself as lovingly chosen to stand in for nieces and nephews everywhere.