English is the only language I can fluently speak, and even that is debateable. I know bits and bobs of other languages, including Mandarin, Welsh, German, Yiddish, Russian, Polish, and Xhosa. But there is this one language whose intricacies I began learning at a very early age. That would be Sarcasm. When it comes to Sarcasm, it really doesn’t matter what your native tongue is; rather, it’s more to do with body posture, inflection of the words, even the tone of voice that makes for a successfully delivered dollop of linguistic malice.
I began learning Sarcasm at the tender age of nine. It had been going on three years since my parental units’ divorce and, even though I was well taken care of and had no doubt that I was loved by Granny and Aunt Tudi, I still missed that connection kids apparently enjoy, regardless of culture or location. I would write them letters, and be thrilled when they wrote me back.
If they wrote me back.
One day, Aunt Tudi and Granny took me to Woolworth’s so I could spend some of my allowance money. Instead of getting a little toy, or candy, or whatever a kid with a couple of bucks could buy back in 1976, I bought two identical greeting cards. After not hearing from either Unit for quite some time when I saw these cards, it was my first crash course in the wonderful world of Snark.
Even though I was hellbent on mailing them to the Mother and Father Units, Aunt Tudi convinced me not to do it. I kept the cards, though, up until I finally disposed of them in the late 90s, because they were yellow and tattered with age. The message was ingenious, though, and I kind of wish I’d held on to them, just for shits and giggles. I’ve recreated the card here, for the enjoyment of any and all.
Very simple, to the point, and unmerciful – like all good sarcasm should be.