The Twilight Report

My Uncle Ian died recently. He is actually the husband of my great aunt, but he's always been referred to as Uncle Ian, so it's hard to think of him as anything else. I was sorry to see him go, of course, but when my mum told me I didn't think too much about it. He had been very sick for a long time.

Today I am in the supermarket when I realize I can do all my shopping at Hanaford except the alcohol (since I don't drink beer) by getting the sympathy card there. So there I am in the greeting card isle, a place that I never browse, because I hate giving clichéd sentiment mass produced and canned for the masses, and suddenly then I decide to get all choked up. I don't get it. It's just a card. It's not a big deal.