I was reading a catalog that I got through the mail. As I took a closer look at the cover I was amused at the two stickers on the front. One said, "You were specially picked to receive this catalog." Having a degree in Business Admin I've picked up the habit of looking at advertising. This one was supposed to give me a feeling that I was special, a part of an elite group of people. Then the second sticker, "Last chance, this may be your final catalog if we don't receive an order from you soon." Smaller print went on to say they didn't want to bother me with catalogs that I wasn't going to use.
The double message here amused me. Am I part of an elite group of ne'er do wells? We almost are appreciated but not quite? Its up to me whether I want to be part of an elite group again and receive another catalog, specially picked for me? Is this a catalog from Saks? Oh-no! Its from Seventh Avenue, how many steps up is that from Finger Hut?
It seems to me we get so many double messages and we turn around and give them to our kids who probably turn around and give them to the hamsters. "Don't hit!" we admonish as we paddle their bottoms. "Say please when you want something," we demand and don't follow our own counsel. "Shut up," we screech! Then we kvetch with our friends about where the teens get their addictions as we down our third latte, beer, wine or light up.
Will we ever get over this obsession we seem to have with giving out double messages? Don't look at me. I'm still waiting for my husband to tell me if these jeans make my butt look big.
The double message here amused me. Am I part of an elite group of ne'er do wells? We almost are appreciated but not quite? Its up to me whether I want to be part of an elite group again and receive another catalog, specially picked for me? Is this a catalog from Saks? Oh-no! Its from Seventh Avenue, how many steps up is that from Finger Hut?
It seems to me we get so many double messages and we turn around and give them to our kids who probably turn around and give them to the hamsters. "Don't hit!" we admonish as we paddle their bottoms. "Say please when you want something," we demand and don't follow our own counsel. "Shut up," we screech! Then we kvetch with our friends about where the teens get their addictions as we down our third latte, beer, wine or light up.
Will we ever get over this obsession we seem to have with giving out double messages? Don't look at me. I'm still waiting for my husband to tell me if these jeans make my butt look big.
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