Make their book
Occasions

Every occasion deserves an apology.

Pick yours. We’ll tell you which book to blame.

A gold watch in a velvet box, presented by a hand with six fingers; the watch hands are tiny hands

Retirements

Thirty years of loyal service. Finally, some recognition.

Blame: coming soon
Many hands crowd in to sign a farewell card at once; one of them is signing with a banana

Coworker leaving

Everybody signs the card. One person brings the book.

Blame: coming soon

Or by who has to open it

The same short shelf, sorted by the person instead of the day.

A hand holds out a single red rose wrapped in a gas-station receipt, its price sticker still on; the other hand keeps hold of a game controller

Boyfriend

He’ll say he hates it. He’ll also keep it where people can see it.

Two arms carry every grocery bag at once, more than a dozen of them hanging from the wrists and forearms

Husband

He has everything he needs and nothing he wants. This is neither.

A hand reaches into a handbag packed with a first-aid kit, a sewing kit, a stapler, an umbrella, a flashlight, a potted plant and snacks, and pulls out one bandage

Wife

Her face, drawn correctly. Her hands, a separate matter.

A hand reaches over a cubicle wall for a red stapler that is chained and padlocked to the desk

Coworker

Nobody needs another mug. There is, however, no mug with their face on it.

A hand in a suit cuff taps a gold wristwatch whose face reads NOW, over a desk with a BOSS nameplate and a desk bell

Boss

A book about the person who signs your reviews. Read it twice before you order.

A hand in rings slides a tray of eight bright shots with paper umbrellas toward a hand holding a glass of water; the napkin reads “just one”

Best friend

You’ve been saving these stories for years. Here’s somewhere to put them.

A hand rests on a thermostat locked inside a clear plastic box, the key hanging from one finger

Dad

He said not to get him anything. This is nothing, bound.

A hand opens a butter tub full of thread, buttons and pins, beside a cookie tin full of sewing supplies

Mom

She’ll show it to her friends, her neighbors and the pharmacist.

Everyone we apologize to

Somebody you love deserves this. We’re so sorry.

One photo. One real book. A lifetime of them bringing it up at dinner.

Make their book

From $19.99 · Character redraws: free, up to six a day · Digital copy with every printed book