Woke up this morning thinking about Sarah’s birthday next week. She’s basically my sister minus the blood thing, ya know? Decided to scrap the usual gift card and actually say how much she means this time. Grabbed my notebook like, “Okay brain, let’s make words happen.” Total blank for like an hour. Drank three coffees. Nothin’.
The Epic Disaster Draft
Figured I’d start with quotes since I suck at feelings. Googled “deep friend quotes” on my phone. Bad idea. Everything was either super cheesy like “Friends are flowers in the garden of life” or stupid dramatic like “I’d die for you”. Nah. My fingers started typing “how to tell your ride or die she matters without sounding like a Hallmark card.” Found some okay ones buried under Pinterest garbage. Copied a few into a doc. Looked… clinical. Like a doctor’s note. “Assessment: Platonic affection levels elevated.” Trash.
Operation Handmade Card
Went nuclear: bought fancy paper and colored pens. Drew a terrible stick figure version of us at that concert last summer. Tried writing my own quote underneath. Wrote: “You’re the cheese to my macaroni.” Realized that was stolen from a kid’s TV show. Crossed it out so hard the paper ripped. Sighed for about five minutes straight. Found a Sharpie. Wrote “Fk it” real big. Folded the paper airplane style and hurled it across the room.
Poured a glass of wine. Scrolled through my camera roll instead. Saw that pic of us screaming to Taylor Swift in the car last summer. Lyrics flooded back: “You knew you won so you played along.” Perfect. Not stolen entirely – added “for singing off-key with me in rush hour traffic.”
Making the Quote Stack Real
Made a list of tiny moments only we’d get:
- That time you drove 40 miles at 2am because I burned microwave popcorn and thought the building was exploding.
- How you always steal exactly three fries from my plate.
- Calling me out when I’m lying to myself.
Printed some real quotes that fit us plus my little add-ons:
“Family isn’t always blood. It’s the people who show up.”
(Add-on: “Especially with wine & spare keys.”)
Wrote it on thick cardstock with my least-shaky handwriting. Messed up ‘especially’. Swore loudly. Turned it into a doodle of a key. Close enough. Stuck it in an envelope with a legit ugly-ass glitter glue border. Sealed it like it held state secrets.
Success Feels Like Cheap Takeout
Met her for greasy Chinese. Shoved the envelope across the table. “Don’t open it until your birthday.” She did. Immediately. Watched her read it. Saw her eyes get wet. She sniffed, punched my arm and said “You sap. Pass the dumplings.” Worth every ripped paper shred. Moral: Cheesy crap is fine as long as it’s your own brand of cheese.
