No More

It was the end of a bad workday. I was tired. I was cranky. I was looking forward to going home and enjoying a G&T, some dinner, and a bubblebath. Unlocking my front door I thought to myself "I made it. Home free! See ya later, outside world. Things are finally looking up for the ol' Dig Digger!"

Before letting myself into the house, I reached into my mailbox.

And was greeted with this:

That's right: addressed to me personally was More magazine, the "only Canadian magazine that celebrates women over 40".

Oh More magazine subscription offer!
How do I hate thee?
Let me count the ways!

1. Get your demographics straight. I don't know who sold you my info, but you've hit too young. I may have started the downward slope to 40 but I'm not there yet.

2. This sort of thing could alienate the type of woman who might otherwise buy your publication.

3. I will never be the type of woman who buys your publication.

4. And you can't give it to me free for a full year either.

5. The GO girl! thing is lame.

6. The letter from the editor starts off with "Dear Fascinating Woman".

7. And it promises me that I'll learn "the latest about everything from hot fashions to hot flashes."

8. The whole thing makes me think of weekday morning TV talk shows.

9. And I haven't watched weekday morning TV talk shows since the late 90s.

Hah! Take THAT, More magazine, you and your attempts to prematurely age me. Why, I haven't enjoyed a rant this much since my weekend complaint about young girls nowadays being slouchy and prone to wearing t-shirts as dresses.


Uh-oh ...

Spice Up Your Life

[Kim at Kurt's before the other dinner guests arrive, hanging out in the kitchen as he assembles spices for the salmon. Kurt tries to shake coriander into a measuring spoon and sprinkles it across the counter instead.]

Kurt: God, I hate this stupid container.

Kim: Yeah, what a mess.

Kurt: The design is crap. Look at this, you can't even flip the lid open. There's just a hole punched in the corner. But then the spice gets caught in the ridge and winds up all over the place.

Kim: Not well thought out, is it?

Kurt: No, it's not. Cheap, flimsy garbage. That's why I keep some of my mom's old spice boxes and refill them. They knew how to make things back then. [Brandishes an Empress box of cloves.]

Kim: Wow! Cloves were $3.89 in the seventies?

Kurt: They were a luxury in Yorkton.

Kim: Before the global food revolution.

Kurt: Back when ships helmed by bedouins navigated the spice route.

Kim: Hey. I thought the bedouins were a nomadic desert people who probably didn't have much to do with ships.

Kurt: You wanna be fed tonight?

Kim: Yeah.

Kurt: Then stop interrupting my story.

Kim: Ok, fine. The bedouins traveled overland to Saskatchewan in caravans.

Kurt: Setting up makeshift markets by the train tracks. You didn't bring your children there.

Kim: The prices were outrageous, but you paid them.

Kurt: How else could we have fully enjoyed mom's glazed ham with canned pineapple rings and maraschino cherries?

Kim: How indeed? Your mom went to great lengths for ham.

Kurt: That she did.

[Pause]

Kim: I'm glad you're not making that tonight.

Kurt: Me too. By the way, I've decided to deny you the salmon after all.

Kim: I don't know why I keep coming here.

Kurt: Me neither.