The stuff dreams are made of

A lot of kids dream of growing up to be fire fighters or astronauts or rock stars. I wasn’t a lot of kids. My dream job wasn’t quite as exciting as any of those, at least in the eyes of the typical ten-year-old. Or, really, the typical 35-year-old. But for me, it was all that and a bag of chips.

My dream was writing catalogue copy.

Oh, the hours I spent reading through catalogues and their witty descriptions about everything from cashmere cardigans to boxes of chocolate. I loved the words, the images they evoked, the conciseness. Don’t even get me started on the brilliance of the conciseness.

And then, in the early 90s, I met my idol: Elaine Benes. You know, Jerry Seinfeld’s friend played by Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Her job on the show was copy writer for the J. Peterman Catalog, known for its crazy, exotic stories about its clothing line. Just one example:

When a man puts on this authentic French farmer’s shirt he may very well find that his hands look bigger….Is that woman over there giving him the eye and nodding toward the haystack? Yes, and he knows what to do.

Wow. Poetry.

And feast your eyes and ears on this.

I SO wanted to have a job like that. But somehow I fell into this whole writing books thing. Oh well. I guess it was just childhood whimsy. I should have known that it was as likely to come true as, say, me being the first person to walk on Mars. The only thing I have to comfort myself now is the Penzeys spice catalogue.

Image from Cactus Creek.

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