The subscription is now over, and I survived all of the postcards that said, in order, “We’re so surprised that you’re not renewing,” “We’re so sorry not to have you as part of our family any longer,” and finally, “We’re sorry that we’ll have to hold your family if you choose not to renew. (All of this was taking place at about the same time that Kmart was tanking and Ms. Stewart was pulling her endorsements from the shelves.)
All this was by way of background anyway…
I was flipping through last October’s issue a couple nights ago, and noticed that it had an article about making costumes for the kids on the off-chance that they had any desire to be robots and had a yen for wearing cardboard boxes. Ok, let’s leave aside the futuristic, styrofoam cup afro for a moment. We can even disregard the scepter made out of a toilet plunger, right? No, the thing that struck me were the photos of the kids running around with tissue boxes on their feet.
Yep, tissue boxes.
Seems that this sure sign that all is not well in the noggin is perfectly acceptable if you are a child of privilege whose mom decides to go for the clever homemade costume rather than letting you dress like Frodo or Samwise.
(This is probably losing something in the translation and if I had a scanner, there would be accompanying photos...)