One of the lovely benefits of visiting friends and family is that there are babysitters around almost 24/7. With this in mind I bought a copy of a glossy women’s magazine the other day (comes in large and handbag sizes and rhymes with tinker-bell, in case you were wondering). When I finally had a half-hour or so to myself I snuggled down on the sofa, anticipating a good non-mummy read.
Front cover was promising, next five pages or so were adverts.
And so were the next five. I chewed my lip. Where’s the mag bit?
Ahhh…there’s a fashion article. Hang on…Hee! Hee! What on earth is she wearing? Surely they’re not serious?
Does her mother know she’s out in that?!
Ooo, that’s quite nice. Ummm…how much I wonder…(scans down to small print). How much?! Must be a misprint. Surely?
An article about a model and socialite. She looks about thirteen and a half. I don’t get past the first paragraph.
There must be something relevant to me in here somewhere…
Recipes? Shopping? A fashion spread with adults modelling real clothes perhaps?
Flick. Flick. Flick.
Perhaps not then.
There’s something quite depressing about realising you’ve slipped out of a demographic. Bring on the Saga catalogues.
Photo credit: Magazines by Pixomar at freedigitalphotos.net