fivefeettall

Controlling my Gag Reflex

My mother came across this 1935 New Series edition of Poetry and Prose Adventures the other day, and in effort to clean crap out of her house, she brought it to mine. Normally I have no problem dumping said crap straight into a box marked "Goodwill", but there was something about this book that kept it sitting on my dining room table for several weeks.


It may have been my grandfather's sloppy, 8-year-old cursive in the front cover or the fantastic Art Deco font that all the headers were set in (it certainly wasn't the slight mildew basement smell that it emitted), but as the book continued to linger, I began to flip through it.

Hidden away between pages 554 and 555 were a pair of die-cut wedding placecards dated 1951. The little brides fold together to stand and from their bouquets stem ribbons where the guests names are written. There's something so pristine and pure about them that even this cynic couldn't resist their charm.


I felt like I had found an absolute generational relic. If I saw bride placecards at Hallmark or Target today, I'd undoubtedly gag. Yet these girls won me over with their innocent details. So I pressed the pair back between the pages and gave the book permanent residence on my shelves.