It was a dark and stormy night...

In truth it was not storming at all, but it was certainly dark. The kind of dark that I would have enjoyed sleeping through. But she often awakens in the night, after which she unfailingly invites me to join her. It is important that I be aware of her insomnia so I can get out of bed to fetch her things.

On that particular (dark but storm-free) night, she bade me bring pen and paper. For the next two hours she jotted down every manner of insult about penises and alcoholism that came to mind, directing them at everyone imaginable, from her first grade teacher to her boss.

She is the brains of the operation. With a deadly sense of humor, a fucked-up group of relatives, and a colorful romantic past that she loves to torture me with, there seems no bottom to her well of cutting commentary.

Me? I design and produce the cards, run the shop, and do all the hoof-work and heavy lifting. I may be the lumpy minion of the operation, but I like to think that without my eye for graphic design and not-so-inexperienced writing skills, the whole enterprise would crash and burn.

Or so I tell myself when from the darkness she says "I can't sleep..."

P.S. In addition to cranking out card-worthy insults, Michelle is also an amazing milliner (maker of hats):

http://www.etsy.com/shop/MadameMerrywidow/about/