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Show 'Lorraine Nelson A Biography Oh my heck,.. was it mailed out? Katie asked, sincere concern pinched back in the tiny creases of her pursed mouth. An excellent question, I thought. I imagined the pamphlet delivered to young and innocent PETA volunteers, kindly pet-shop owners, heart-on-their-sleeve animal lovers stinking of patchouli and cruelty-free hair-conditioner-the photo of a handsome young woman in a white smock cradling beneath one arm a bushy Pomeranian like a Thanksgiving day ham seeping into their dreams. Tina ignored Katie's question, instead waving the advertisement before us for emphasis. A mistake like this can cost us thousands of dollars. I guess we can be glad this wasn 't an ad for geriatric care, I said outloud. Katie-like all the other copyediting staffers: bubbly, blonde, twenty-something, likely Mormon (though I never asked)-actually gasped. These girls regularly chattered about last night's episode of Friends, giggled over their low-cal soups and salads in the breakroom, and discussed with great vigor their wedding plans: seating charts, invitations, catering vendors and floral arrangements. They once tried to include me in their circle, inviting me out to lunch, but it was excruciatingly awkward. I didn't have cable, and they couldn't care less about the politics of Reformation literature. I spent the last fifteen minutes before we returned to the office smoking alone the on the empty patio of Applebee's, buffeted by the 80's lite-rock being piped through the outdoor speakers. Another photo: a teenager in flannel, smiling openmouthed, arms draped around the neck of some indeterminate hound. Have you ever dreamed of eating your friends 'pets? Between the offending tag-line and the four full-color shots of pets frolicking with owners, the pamphlet looked less like direct mail, more like a menu. The client didn 'tfind it so funny, Tina said sternly. Oh, I shrugged, feeling sufficiently chastised, okay-but I thought, really? |
