I visited a local Paper Source store this afternoon. It was my first visit since sometime last spring. My health can only handle infrequent trips to the holy mecca of paper divinity for, otherwise, I’d live a life of fainting spells and smelling salts (preferably lavender scented, thanks). I bow in your general direction every night/morning before I sleep, and I faithfully declare: There is no god but Paper, and Paper Source is Her prophet.
Yeah, that’s right: I said “her.”
So, yeah. I had heart palpitations with pretty much every glance or step around my “church.” You make it so easy to love you, Paper Source. And yet, so hard. So, so very hard.
Here are some reasons why:
Your gut-wrenching gift wrap:
Your cough-provoking calling cards:
Your head-throbby thank-you notes:
Your satanic stationery & crazy-@ss cards:
Your achy-breaky-heart-shaking animals:
Your jack-knifing journals:
And, finally, your gasp-worthy gift ideas: