There’s a joke that three things sell newspapers: sex, Elvis and UFOs. This is true. Just read the headlines of those tabloids that are located in the checkout lanes of supermarkets. There are always REAL photos of celebrities like Jennifer Aniston and Brad Pitt — together again. In the lower left is a photo of Angelina Jolie looking like a poor, skinny waif left out in the rain.
There are alway stories about aliens landing in obscure towns like Kouts, Ind. They know these little guys landed because early one morning all 10 residents find a mysterious saucer-shaped burnt area in the middle of the field that serves as the town square.
And then there are the amazing weight-loss stories, like Kendra Quasimoto lost 50 pounds in 10 days. Turn to page four for her diet and exercise secrets so you t0o can make an amazing transformation in little more than one week.
So…ever see anyone brave enough to take one of those rags off the rack to turn to page four? No? Well, hey, just stand behind my husband’s cart for awhile. Actually, you won’t have to wait long. He immediately grabs one off the rack and settles in to read while waiting. This is why he doesn’t care how long the line is. The longer the line, the more he gets to read. When he does this, I do my best to pretend as if I don’t know him.
This, of course, does not work. He immediately begins laughing and insists that I read whatever story has caught his attention. It’s usually the alien story. After 30 years, you’d think I’d understand him, but nope. I don’t know what it is about these stories that entrance him so. Just between you and me, I think he believes them.
One day he actually bought one. Actually twice. The first time was probably 10 years ago and he planned to use it in his high school Sunday school class, much to the delight of our daughters. The second time, I assume it was for entertainment since he no longer teaches SS. Anyway, he bought it. Really. Laid it right there on top of his grits. As the cashier picked it up, she looked at him, then me. Hey, don’t look at me. I’m the one with the Real Simple magazine. They shared a chuckle over it.
That night as he ate his once-a-week Hostess cupcake, he snickered, chuckled, and laughed uproariously over it. Honestly. I have no idea what was in it. Weeks have passed. And yet, it remains tucked away at the bottom of the magazine basket. I know better than to suggest it be disposed of. It will reappear on Easter Sunday…not, mind you, that there is any connection to the resurrection. Or maybe it does. For all I know, there’s a story on someone who claims to be Jesus.
No, the magazine awaits its next owner. My son-in-law shares my husband’s fascination for tabloids. After all, you know what they say. Daughters marry their men that remind them of their fathers. I should have warned her.