Some houses come with surprises

            I had no idea what the previous owner of our house did to get on every fashion catalog mailing list.   Day after day the slick, colorful fantasy mailers filled my new postal box and at first it was simply amusing for someone with my credit score to get these visits from Madison Avenue goddesses pictured in such odd poses that I could not understand why they were smiling.

           Other than my concern for the number of trees sacrificed to the god of fashion retailing, the slick glossy catalogs did not bother me.   But then the dreams started.   In the beginning it seemed innocent enough—at least until I realized the source of the gorgeous, statuesque women in my dreams – the catalogs.  Under the cloak of darkness the well toned bronze beauties with the come hither looks were tip toeing off the catalog pages and seducing my subconscious with wild fantasies.

           I didn't even know who to blame --the marketing companies, the gene-pool-blessed models or the photographers who could take standard stick figure stereotypes and light just enough of their high cheek bones to create a mysterious quality – one  that said, "If you buy what I have on, you too can live a life of intrigue and romance."  

            Usually the dreams weren't even sexual – they were more like "I'm entering their imaginary world and sharing their adventure".   Sort of like a nocturnal green screen technique used by movie directors and weather persons to give the appearance of being in the scene with a hurricane or a space ship, except it all happened in my head and I had no control over it.

            Something about the Calvin Klein "Oyster Double Breasted Coat" on the rail thin blonde really did create "nothing is more alluring than the imagination".   Of course the nothing became something when I sat down beside her at the Harvard Club or whatever dim musty old place the photographer found for the photo shoot.   (Before anyone gets upset that the big New York department store or Calvin Klein's lawyers decide to sue me for trademark infringement, I have to declare that the intellectual property laws don't apply to dreams.   But I digress.)

           There we were – she and I sipping our cocktails and discussing how to spend her inheritance.   I remember her saying she didn't have time to be bothered with money and she would really appreciate me taking care of it for her just before I woke up.

            In time my adventures became bolder.   Ralph Lauren set the scene for my encounter with "The Intellectual Beauty" in the "BREEN WOOL WRAP COAT WITH IMITATION FUR COLLAR".   As we sat on the plush red velvet sofa and chatted about the plight of the modern intellectual, it never occurred to me to ask her how many imitation animals died to make her collar.  

            Of course on another night I hit it big at the horse track with the delightful blonde in the Jones New York "brown/multi tweed jacket with suede trim".   It didn't even bother me that her unexpected high pitched voice scared the horses.

            Neither my spell checker nor I knew how to define the fun you could have in an alley with the "multi boucie jacket" on top of the "silk/nylon teal jewel neck short sleeve sweater."   Of course it helped that all these non-hyphenated descriptions described a hauntingly pouty blonde who looked like she hadn't eaten in a fine restaurant in days.   The next morning I realized the peeling paint behind her on the steel roll down door provided a visual counterpoint to her blue cross weave "matching fluted skirt".

            In my most exotic adventure I drifted to a cantina south of the border with a Latin looking goddess in a "white acrylic/cotton one size poncho".   I can't tell you how much my heart fluttered when I found out she had also packed the black and wheatgrass colored versions.

            Then there was the stimulating conversation I had with the cocked head brunette in the "capucine full figure underwire lace bra."   When I found out she had a PHD in astro physics and specialized in research on black holes my mind went ballistic.    I thought we were really about to hit it off until she told me her idea of a real man was the physicist Stephen Hawkins.

            The intellectual chemistry was much better with the boy short sporting underwear model in the "nylon/Lycra elastane soft underwire bra."   Her knowledge of the Yankees proved encyclopedic.  

            After weeks of these nocturnal escapades I began to realize what the previous owner was trying to tell me when she described the two-story Colonial with the catalog filled mail box as a "Dream House."                                                       

            Next time I'll be more careful if I see that description in the real estate ads.  

            Of course I must admit I'm looking forward to the Spring collection which should be in the mail box any day.  

Copyright 2005 Sam Love