Direct mail marketing, or as I prefer to know it, junk mail, can get it wrong, so wrong, really wrong.

For example, what unfortunate postal mishap has resulted in the ceaseless delivery of the Victoria’s Secret catalog to my name at my address? Is it a joke? There is not much in this world less interesting to me than women’s underwear. Jeff gets his Jeep parts catalog, from which he has placed an order exactly once, but even that is more welcome toilet reading.

Why can’t it be the Ikea catalog? I should perhaps be cautiously grateful it’s not International Male. It’s like making eye contact with a panhandler. Once they see you look they’re all over you for some coin.

Then there’s my recent receipt of a solicitation from a local funeral home. The double insult: It was addressed to Jeff — and his wife.


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the untallied hours

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