Secret Pop

Nov 7, 2002

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.

I answered my door a few moments ago and was greeted by two young fellows from Philadelphia and Atlanta, respectively, with a sales pitch that lasted for ages. I tried to get them to cut to the chase. I asked what they were selling. They said they weren't selling anything but good looks and personality. By the time we got to the part about me agreeing to order a new magazine subscription, both of them had proposed marriage and offered to show me around their respective home towns. One swore to having seen me on the pages of Cosmopolitan, which he was also delighted to report I could order for a period of 24 months for a nominal fee. They also suggested Seventeen. Which is just madness. I was kind and assured them that I would have selected a title if I didn't already subscribe to all of the magazines I can handle at the moment. And even though I'm sure they hated me for not giving them any scratch, the littler one bid me adieu by saying that he still wishes he could have my hand in marriage.

Well, it's nice to know I've got options.

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