I concur. One year on our anniversary (near the end), all I got from my then-husband was a card. Which is fine. Except this card started with “To my dear husband…” and went on to poetically pay tribute to every hubby stereotype ever conceived. The printed words were followed by his scribbled name. Not Love, Steve. Just

Steve

Obviously, he hadnt even bothered to read it first.

He laughed about it, and so did I, because what else could I do? I could laugh, or get angry. And I knew better than to let him see i was upset about something he found funny. That triggered his rage and it was just easier to stuff my feelings down and reinforce his good mood. It’s no wonder I ended up in the nuthouse and long-term addiction treatment (and thankfully single) a couple of years later. All that stuffing had to come out somewhere.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.

I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up, but I know I want it to be spelled right and punctuated correctly. I guess that’s something.