Catalog hell

As anyone who knows me well knows, I can sometimes have a messy house. And when I do, my common reaction is to glance at the floor as I step over a ridiculous pile and say - outloud - to myself, "Who lives here?" Then I go on my merry way as if someone else is sure to clean all that up later.

I fear that time is again near.
Why? you ask.

The catalogs are coming.

A torrent of catalogs. A flood. A tidal wave. A veritable tsunami of glossy pages filled with pictures of things that just.might.be the perfect gift.

It's this time of year that often finds me knee-deep in catalogs--wading through them on the way to the couch, tripping over them as I go, digging through them to find the remote, each glance at them laced with guilt and shame for the current state of my living conditions.

I have always gotten a lot of catalogs. I thought it was normal, but according to my friend Kristie I get an inordinate amount. Still, it usually seems somewhat manageable.

And the fact that Tiffany & Co. has a mild infatuation with me was always somewhat flattering. There are times I've received three catalogs a week from dear Tiffany. One year I received the coveted "big book" (which, I was told by the printer who prints it, means I'm considered a primo customer - which is HI-larious given that I don't want to spend $150,000 on a house, much less a necklace...)

My point being... I get a lot of catalogs. And while I'm not sure what I've done to increase the number I receive over the years, I will readily admit that I've done nothing to discourage the catalogs from coming.

I'm popular, I thought. These people love me.

However, things have now gotten a bit ridiculous. I understand it's the holiday season and everyone who has anything to sell you is pushing their wares. But, I just checked my mail after two days of not checking and... 16 catalogs! Six-TEEN.

"Throw them out!" you say. Better yet, "Recycle them!" (Which I do.) Or, "Call and take your name off the list." I know, I know. All good ideas.

But I feel this compulsion to look through them all. I have this innate suspicion that there just might be the PERFECT gift for my father (some banjo-inspired magic trick named after a dead philosopher, for example.) Or for my mother (a book on teaching African American literature to ESL students in rural Ecuador while playing the concertina, for example.) Or, perhaps, the perfect gift for ME (a trap door to install in my floor under the magazine rack, for example.)

You never know.
And right there is a sign that they've got me.

Just like a terrible traffic accident... the volume of catalogs is horrific. Yet I can't look away. The flood of shopping possibilities just keeps coming.

And I don't think FEMA sends assistance to people whose houses are flooded by order forms. I don't even think the Red Cross, as kind-hearted as they are, would lift a finger to help me.

I'm on my own.

So I'm starting with 5 a night. At that rate, I can probably be guaranteed to find the perfect gift for my mom and/or my dad exactly two days before Christmas... when shipping will cost me the price of a Tiffany & Co. necklace.

Oh, holiday season, I forgot how much you stress me out!

And now... wish me luck. I'm off to review the latest offerings from Gaiam Living, Wolferman's, Napa Style, Uncommon Goods and Bas Bleu. My first five. Only 658 more to go!