Friday, December 16, 2005
The Ghost of Christmas Presents
Every year, my dry cleaner gives me a calendar for Christmas. Typically, it's a big, glossy affair with random pictures of European cities and lots of Chinese characters I can't begin to decipher, but figure must be some sort of crack about my weight. I like to put it on the wall next to my bed, so I can pencil in my many extravagant social events and fall asleep at night dreaming of Joy One Hour Cleaners.
But this year the calendar has pictures of young children in adults' clothing, which I quite frankly find creepy. I simply have a hard time believing that four year olds are going on romantic picnic dates in the park or rowing one another around in boats, and I certainly don't think they should be going to first base. This calendar even has a shot of a toddler in an overcoat and fedora giving his toddler wife a goodbye kiss before heading off to work, presumably at the telegraph company, since we're apparently desperately clinging to a past that never was. I just can't imagine the audience for this thing, although to be fair, I never understood those pictures where they dress babies up as flowers, either. To me, it all just falls under the heading of child abuse.
Anyway, I guess I need to find a new source for ironic-enjoyment calendars. Maybe my insurance agent or bank will come through.
Every year, my dry cleaner gives me a calendar for Christmas. Typically, it's a big, glossy affair with random pictures of European cities and lots of Chinese characters I can't begin to decipher, but figure must be some sort of crack about my weight. I like to put it on the wall next to my bed, so I can pencil in my many extravagant social events and fall asleep at night dreaming of Joy One Hour Cleaners.
But this year the calendar has pictures of young children in adults' clothing, which I quite frankly find creepy. I simply have a hard time believing that four year olds are going on romantic picnic dates in the park or rowing one another around in boats, and I certainly don't think they should be going to first base. This calendar even has a shot of a toddler in an overcoat and fedora giving his toddler wife a goodbye kiss before heading off to work, presumably at the telegraph company, since we're apparently desperately clinging to a past that never was. I just can't imagine the audience for this thing, although to be fair, I never understood those pictures where they dress babies up as flowers, either. To me, it all just falls under the heading of child abuse.
Anyway, I guess I need to find a new source for ironic-enjoyment calendars. Maybe my insurance agent or bank will come through.
