And now for something completely different.
Laura’s going to take a temporary Comcast-bashing hiatus to talk about something vastly more personal and important: her Turkey Neck. Yes, for those of you loyal brant-readers who have either never met Laura or haven’t seen her in a long time, Laura has to admit that her once taut neck isn’t what it used to be (neither are other once-taut body parts, but that’s another brant). She can’t remember when she first noticed her turkey neck — what the exact moment in time was when she realized, in horror, that the little crepey little patch of neck skin, immortalized by Nora Ephron in her bestselling book title, was the onset of the most dreaded sign of aging: turkey neck. But it was at least two years ago and she swears she hasn’t quite been the same since.
Laura could say it a hundred more times — turkey neck! turkey neck! turkey neck! — but saying it over and over and over won’t make it go away or make her any less depressed that there’s nothing she can do about it. So imagine her surprise when yesterday, while at Costco, she saw this giant display for StriVectin cream. She loves that phony-important capital “V” in the middle of the word, separating “Stri” from “Vectin” — as if there’s a medical reason for it — or even a LATIN reason for it: “Stri” as in “Turkey” and “Vectin” as in “Neck” — and she loves the bash-you-over-the-head marketing line: GOT TURKEY NECK? What team of marketing geniuses came up with that? A bunch of women embarrassed and saddened by their aging necks? Laura doesn’t think so. Probably a bunch of 40-something slick ad-guy Mad-Men wannabes types trying for uber-cleverness and go-for-the-jugular shock value. Whatever happened to the subtle mind-fuck of “subliminal advertising”?
Laura was at Costco yesterday because sometimes after school Ben begs to stop on their way home so he can have a Churro (or two) (or three) (but Laura never says yes to three, only two) (even though two is already one too many) (but Ben’s starving after school and he’s thin as a rail) (okay she’s getting off this parentheses train right now). Laura’s Costco membership ran out about a year ago and she’s been feeling too cheap to drop $50 on a new one so sometimes, after Ben has his churro(s), they walk the aisles and look around pretending that they have still have a membership and could buy stuff if they wanted to but are just, this once, choosing not to. It’s kind of pathetic, doing a Fake Costco Shop, but it kills an hour and gets a few hundred steps in which is always a bonus when she’s wearing her pedometer on her beltloop like a big old turkey-necked goofball.
Yesterday they had arranged to meet Laura’s parents at Costco — they met at the snack bar and then Laura glommed on to her mother’s Costco card so she could buy brisket for the holiday and Popcorn Chicken for Ben and a four-pack of Clorox wipes for herself and that’s when she saw the giant display of GOT TURKEY NECK? cream. If Laura weren’t watching her pennies she seriously would have considered buying the cream, but she’s got to save her money for a REAL turkey for thanksgiving, not turkey neck cream for herself. Feeling virtuous as she went through the checkout line and spending only $48, she marveled at her frugality and self-restraint until she got back in her car and adjusted her rear view mirror. There she suddenly came face to face with something her stupid Clorox wipes wouldn’t be able to wipe away:
Her Turkey Neck.
So now she’s saving up for a new Costco membership and some “Stri” = Turkey “Vectin” = Neck dream-cream.