When I was about 12 or 13, my stepmother bought my father a paper slicer for his birthday or Christmas (he’s an artist, and would actually use it quite a lot). It was one of those guillotine types with the big ol’ handle that will take your finger off as good as anything. Heavy, industrial, completely functional, I thought to myself, “That is the lamest present ever. Where’s the romance? Where’s the mystique?”

Fast forward twenty-some years. I’m making baby announcements that are, as usual, completely beyond complicated: a multi-page layout, staples, glue, slicing, dicing, making things uniform. My husband says, “You really need a good paper slicer.” I laugh, and tell him the story about my stepmother and father’s little love token of a paper guillotine, and how I just didn’t understand. A couple weeks later one shows up in the mail for me, and I couldn’t be more thrilled.

Nothing says “I love you” like a paper slicer.

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