I’m a terrible salesperson. Selling things is not part of my biology. I get all clammy, and if the person shows a hint of hesitation, I want to give them a chilled lemonade and a fresh cookie and say “I understand! I’m sorry for your time. Can we forget this all happened?” Because that moment of hesitation as excuses come to mind, I would like to disapear. That talent of being able to talk someone into doing something, is not mine. That is why I don’t make things to sell. I’m far too shy. I’d end up bankrupt, giving everything away for free.
So, you understand why I admire entrepreneurs. Which brings me to my sister. I think she bought all our Christmas presents from the sales of her cards. She drew them by hand, phoned every printer in Saskatoon to find one with a reasonable printing price and converted her friends into card-sending, sentiment-noting, users of postage stamps. In this wonderful online age of poking people through Facebook, it’s not a small feat. If you want a pack, please, leave a comment.
They’re in french: Joyeux Noel, Félicitations, Merci beaucoup, Bonne fête and Guéris vite! Fifteen dollars for fifteen cards.