Dear Mr.Scrapbooker

Let's just get this straight. I can't believe that I need to even send out this public service announcement.

REAL MEN DON'T SCRAPBOOK.

But, apparently, at least one man in the world didn't get his List of Don'ts, of which "Real Men Don't Scrapbook" is #8.

It's you, dude. The guy I saw in the scrapbooking store today who still has to get his Vegas album finished before excitedly moving on to new projects. The guy who I mistakenly felt sorry for prior to realizing that he actually IS a scrapbooker.


Do your friends know this about you? Do you display your albums on your coffee table? Do you pass them off as your wife's? Are you still resentful that your parents never put you in baseball or hockey? or that those guitar lessons never really panned out? Were you that desperate to find a hobby that you stole your wife's passion? Or are you that whipped that you gave up baseball, hockey and playing open mike with the band in order to scrapbook? Were you afraid to tell her that you're not really interested? Or do you honestly believe that it is a 'nice thing to do together as a couple; to create permanent memories for your children?' Is that the argument she gave you? Or did you not even require an argument? I'm sorry. I'm just having trouble getting this clear in my head. Please. Enlighten me.

I refuse to even entertain the idea that you enjoy it.


At first, I didn't realize that you were a scrapbooker. At first, I took a bit of pity on you because I believed that the scrapbook store would be the last place in the world that you'd want to be on a Sunday; your wife MUST have dragged you along for the ride; convinced you to come into the store, rather than just sitting in the car waiting. Your wife was showing you papers and telling you all of her ideas - blah, blah, blah, blah. I couldn't believe that you were actually listening, of course, but you did a good job of making it appear as though you were. Up to this point, you had been nodding and muttering a low level of enthusiasm to everything that Mrs.Scrapbooker was showing you.

And then I heard her say to you:

"Yeah, but have you finished your Vegas album yet? You should finish up that one first."

Your Vegas album.

YOUR. ALBUM.

That little bitty pity deflated from this hot sack of air quickly.
You were there by choice.
And you were certainly choosing. Lots of beautiful papers to accompany your creative and passionate ideas for your next page layout. And your next themed album. Once your wife outed you, you were comfortable discussing your ideas openly.

I think if you were effeminate, I could have almost accepted you more easily. I could have understood. But, you're not.

So, I don't get it.

Hey, at least your kids are getting permanent memories. More than I can say for mine. And I know there's not a snowball's chance in hell of getting B.Rube to scrapbook. Because real men don't scrapbook.


AS AN ASIDE: (I spent an hour in a large scrapbooking store today. ( I am working on a very very cool Chawbacon project, that I will share with you in future months. ) I don't know about you all, but my heart rate accelerates as I walk through the doors of this store. It's the paper that does it to me. I am absolutely and overwhelmingly turned on by the paper. Both the texture and the patterns. And the colours. And the combination of colours and textures and patterns. And, at that point, my head is already close to exploding, with the ideas and opportunities, with the things I need and the things I want. And I haven't even entered thought into the next-step world of elements & embellishments yet. Brads, staples, stickers, corners, stamps, eyelets, buttons, ribbon, rub-ons, cut-outs, letters. )