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Admitting I’m a Hallmark whore is pretty embarrassing. Hallmark? It’s cheesy! It’s sentimental! It's commercial! It’s too much of everything!

And I love it.

I became a Hallmark regular when I got hooked on Shoebox Greeting Cards. They were the first edgy, humorous line in the store, and many times I’d be stuck in front of the display with my purse breaking my shoulder because I couldn’t tear myself away—or keep from laughing out loud. I couldn’t resist their offbeat, quirky approach and bought some cards whether I needed them or not, knowing I couldn’t leave the store without that setup and punch line in my bag. I totally got into finding the right card for the right person. In the process, I developed a reputation for sending the funniest cards, and subconsciously lived up to Hallmark’s slogan: “When you care enough to send the very best.”

Soon, the cards were not enough. About 15 years ago, I got sucked into the Keepsake Ornament vortex. There were a lot of children in my life that I wanted to remember at Christmas, and sending them a boxed ornament geared to their interest and age became my tradition. Building them a collection year by year would reinforce their holiday memories and give them a starter set of decorations to take with them when they left home. Soon I was buying ornaments for friends, co-workers, and relatives and spending hundreds of dollars on them at the big ornament premiere every July. Yes, Hallmark should be proud of the genius of their cross-marketing strategy! They reeled me in.

Once I was lured into the store by the cards and ornaments, anything was possible. Soon I was sniffing candles and soaps and ooohing and ahhing over the Caswell-Massey bath products. Baby photo albums became a regular shower gift for expectant moms. I started buying photo frames for new couples. I was always charmed by the unexpected—funky reading glasses, nice costume jewelry, beautiful pens, French provincial totes and bags. I even picked up an occasional inspirational book, full of wise words and great photographs and illustrations. Whodathunk I’d buy one of those? For myself, no less!

My children adored Hallmark too. When the kids were small, I eased their toughest medical moments with trips to Hallmark to get a Ty stuffed toy. The pain of shots, dental procedures, and stitches were all eased by beanie babies and silky soft pastel bears. And the fudge they sold from a glass case at the checkout helped a lot too.

I’m thinking of Hallmark because my local store in Virginia is hosting its annual after-hours, invitation-only holiday open house tonight. Naturally when I lived there, I always got an invitation and tucked it safely away in my purse, waiting for the big event. Not only did they offer refreshments, new merchandise, and special prices, but they also gave out BIG goody bags loaded with all sorts of great products. Unpacking that bag at the end of the evening was such fun.

So Hallmark, I salute you for worming your way into my heart and checkbook. I’ve been wooed and seduced by your clever campaign. I thought I was way too cool to be a Hallmark Grrrl but here I am, a Hallmark Whore, just like the rest of the chicks queuing up at the store door tonight, waiting to get in, load their baskets, and grab their goodies. I hope they miss me. I miss them. Happy Holidays to the Hallmark Posse! May you always care enough to send the very best.

November 18, 2005