Oh, how I love homemade commercials. You know the ones I mean. Remember the Carvel ice cream guy when we were kids? Or Mel's obnoxious 'Noooooooooooobody' nonsense?
I'm making chili. And sipping a little wine from a perfect little tumbler that has a dragonfly on it. I love this little glass, and I wouldn't be drinking wine so early, but I needed some room in the fridge and the only - the only - thing I could do to free up space was kill off the couple of inches of wine. So, I'm actually being very efficient.
Anyway. I make good chili.
And anyway again, I have the TV on. And this ad just came for something called Decorating Mart. Now, if you're any kind of decorator (and I'm not; I just call Arlene and ask her what I like), the name alone would send you running for something else. Anything else, in fact. But like the Carvel guy, he decided to save a few bucks and make his own ad.
It's awesome. In a store that looks like an arena full of swatches and bad gilt-and-red velvet cherubs, a guy is beseeching you to come to Decorating Mart. Guy looks like an unmade bed. You'd have thunk that Mrs. Decorating Mart would have at least dressed him on this of all days - the day he makes his television debut. Nope.
TV these days seems to be a jumble of extremes. It's either ridiculous baby beauty pageants with 18-month-olds in fake eyelashes, or Mr. Decorating Mart. No in-between to rest my horrified eyes.
I'm bracing myself for the onslaught of terrible holiday advertising. The Lee Valley catalogue arrived the other day. I noticed that you can order on-line. I told everyone to flip through, and order all the lawn equipment and garlic mashers they want. It's on me.
As long as I don't find myself in Decorating Mart, succumbing to the siren song of Tacky Crap That Seemed So Right At The Moment.
Oh be quiet. You have boxes of that sh*t in the basement. We all do.