Old magazine ads typically fill me with a sense of nostalgic warmth and an occasional giggle. But when I saw this one I screamed, "NO! MY EYES, MY EYES! NOOOOO!" so loud that I thought the denizens of the neighborhood watch council would ask me to move at once.
I'm sure you thought the life of Felix has been one long glamor-thon, but the truth, dear readers, is that this is the precise crap I grew up with in the family living room. More specifically, our suite (the phrase my mother insisted on) was all gold, not avocado. And when anyone, anyone would refer to the style as being Early American, my mother would narrow her eyes, look down her nose and sniff with complete exasperation, "It's not Early American -- It's Colonial"
It could have been Battle of the Bulge for all I cared, I wanted something sleek and modern. Several years ago, in a group of friends the question was posed, "How old were you when you realized your parents had no taste." The question was definitely a 'when' and not an 'if ' as we had all grown up in the suburbs. Well, pretty much to a man the answer was twelve. I had to answer ten, because that's how old I was when this shit was delivered.
I think that even maybe me in the advertisement. The one with his head hung in shame and blindfolded so as not to see the offending furniture one more second.
You wanna know the worst part? It was the most comfortable stuff I ever sat on.
