I went to my PMB the other day. Something I only do when I'm expecting a check. Hey, all of my bills are set up on auto-pay, and I've completely given up the idea of ever catching up on the magazines I've subscribed to, so the need to fetch mail is reduced to about two or three times a month. I always feel bad when someone has secretly overnighted something to me thinking I would get it right away, then understand the ice in their voice for the past week, caused by my failure to acknowledge their thoughtfulness. I'm difficult to surprise. I'm difficult in a multitude of ways, I'm sure. However, as a creature of habit and one of limited means, I easily fit into a certain set of demographics. Even with that, somehow Madison Avenue hasn't figured me out.
A few years ago, over the course of ten days, I received the oddest group of mailings:
1. An Olivia Cruises brochure
2. Samples and coupons for Enfamil baby formula
3. A Robbins Bros. engagement ring catalogue
Somehow, I seemed to have come off as a pregnant lesbian longing for a vacation and a commitment ceremony. So, perhaps I should not have been terribly surprised when I pulled from my mailbox a copy of "Bridal Guide".
I kept staring at the address tag. Yep. It had my name and box number. This was not a mistake. I mean, it was certainly a mistake, but not one of the ladies who put mail into my slot. Jeebus. That sounds pervy.
Anyway, I figured one of my friends sent me the ultimate gag gift. Many of the people I know have twisted senses of humor. And this certainly fits that bill. If it is indeed a promotional copy, they didn't really send it out in style. No plastic covering. No charming letter from the editor with an invitation to subscribe. If it's a sign from God, He and I have to have a little chat. Bridezilla I shan't be. Very little tradition or planning will go into whatever I do whenever that day comes. Besides, there's a whole lot of tacky on those pages. It's enough to make any girl stay single, or at least elope. I don't know that I could torture my girlfriends with those bridesmaid dresses. Unless one of them is responsible for the subscription. Payback may end up being a bitch in purple taffeta.
At the end of the day, though, it seems that Madison Avenue has gotten me all wrong yet again. I almost look forward to seeing what they come up with next. Almost.