Once a month my husband comes in beaming from his trip to the mailbox. He strolls towards me holding a thin package in clear plastic wrap. He shakes it in front of me and says, “It came!” MY GLAMOUR MAGAZINE!
I’ve been subscribing to Glamour Magazine since high school. Finding out the trends for next month, how-to hairstyle guides, and photos of celebrities spotted canoodling in Hollywood coffee shops gets me all hot and bothered! Within an hour I usually have the issue devoured cover to cover. (In case anyone is wondering, I love the “Hey It’s OK” section! My fav!) I set it aside and anxiously await next month’s issue.
Typically, my hubbie gets his monthly magazine on the same day. After he drops my Glamour in my lap, he turns his attention to his… brace yourself… Kiplinger’s. Nope, not speaking another language, it is indeed called, Kiplinger’s. I’m not exactly sure but I believe it’s some sort of money management, 401K, investment banking… blah, blah, blah. What on earth is exciting about that? I get the articles about upcoming spring fashion trends. I pour over recipes that “make your man melt.” I take the quizzes to find out what kind of sex life I’ll have in 2012 based on my sign, height, and shoe preference. But what I don’t get is how reviewing the criteria for deducting a home office on your taxes IS ENTERTAINMENT?!?
Just yesterday I had a dentist appointment. After I placed my purse and coat on a chair in the waiting room I eyed the magazine rack. Yessss! Fresh magazines of all shapes and sizes! (The only reason I go with my hubbie when he gets his haircut is to paroose the newest magazines.) As I stood in front of the magazine rack I could see a dad and his son watching me make my selection. Damn.
The following interpretations of each magazine flashed through my head in a matter of 25 seconds:
Seventeen Magazine: I’m 26 reading a magazine targeted to a teenage girl. Prom dresses, curfews, and ACT prep are no longer issues in my life. Boo.
Newsweek: Makes me look smart… like I know about the world. Except, I don’t care.
Redbook: I must be a mom who needs 10 easy crock pot recipes so when I’m between dropping my kids off at soccer and book club, I can feed them healthy meals. Nope.
Sports Illustrated: I’m a butch with a hot chick waiting for me at home. I probably want to stay current on the latest college softball scores.
So, what did I go with? Travel and Leisure Magazine: I’m well-rounded, cultured, and enjoy a good time! I grabbed it, sat down, and then got called in for my teeth cleaning.
It’s amazing what magazines say about a person. For my husband and I, they illustrate who we are. At the dentist office they give a glimpse of the many different people who go in and out of the office every day. Magazines are a great source of entertainment and information. They may change with us as we get older, but sometimes, they also help us hang on to who we will always be.