The other day I was blindsided by the marketing industry.  It seems that I have reached the milestone that one apparently needs to achieve to be marketed to as an old person.  I was greeted by this lovely catalog in my mailbox. 

I am taking this opportunity to critique this before the loss of my faculties, which as this catalog indicates, is soon impending.  This document is written in large font for all of similarly aged friends.

Disclaimer:  These pictures were taken using my telephone from a catalog.  I do not own the copyright on  these images.  They are displayed for satirical purposes only.

Nothing screams crone like a Nordic fifty-something woman in faux fur on the cover.  Seriously, who recruited this woman?  I can just see it now. Talent scouts endaur below freezing temperatures, blizzards and ice storms.  They arrive in a frozen land which time forgot.  The place is filled with reindeer, smiling cherubic children, and this woman.

They promise her a lucrative career as a supermodel in the distant mysterious United States.  She poses for these pictures, never to see the printed photos.

She is compensated with a bag of angel's tears.
Does the carpet match the drapes?  I don't know, but I do know this stunning ensemble matches the sofa. 

This could turn my immanent dementia into one hell of a trip!  I won't be able to tell if I'm sitting or I'm just dressed to go out.  The nurses should be able to keep me entertained for hours.
I swear to God I'll pistol whip the next guy who says "Shenanigans."
No, you are reading this correct.  It really says "Bend Over".  This catalog caters to old horny bastards.

Forget the internet or Victoria's Secret catalogs, this is nursing home pornography at its worse. The pages are filled with cover to cover with old lady ass.  Those young, firm models are just a distant fantasy when you are under constant supervision from the medical staff.  But Mable, from three doors down, can wear this.  And those doctors have to sleep some time.  Maybe when the nurses aren't looking...

*Bend over John

This is a special value!  for only 17.99, you can have the flattest front ever!

I guess that if you are not an ass man, the flat front might be your thing.  I'm not sure how that's a turn-on, but if you're 200 years old and you need to take a pound of Viagra to get a stiffy, pretty much anything walking must be hot.

And the fanny doesn't stop, especially if Alfred Dunner has his way!

Alfred has his finger on the pulse of the assisted living woman, and the pulse screams S-T-R-E-T-C-H!

The modern assisted living man has no objections, because ass is always in fashion.

Is that an arm or a bad Photoshop job on the waistline.  Looks like even old bitties have to be image conscious in this day and age.
Why pay $85 to be the suburban mountaineer of the nursing home?  You can roam the hallways of the home, exploring the natural environment of your tapioca pudding.  You can bravely tame the wilds of the bingo hall!   And your arms are always free for the nurse's to give you your 'vitamin shot'.

Fear not, they have your size.  This stylish must-have is available from petite to 5x!
She can turn the world on with her smile.  Frankly, she'd better, because this outfit is full of fail. It's not like Mary would be caught dead in this to begin with.

It's like an outdated tweed suit was gang raped by a shag carpet and gave birth to this...this thing.

Just looking at the fabric makes me want to coat my body in Cortisone.  This frock is obviously full of itch.

And what is that color?  Is it beige or gray? Did something go terrible wrong on the road to taupe? Maybe it is beay or geige.  Either way, it is blander than overcooked, fat-free, white rice.  It is an assault to my senses with it's lack of commitment.  This is the color of death, not white or black, but this horrible, non-commital, geige.  

You can be princess of the memory ward! 

There's a color for every day of the week.  As royalty, your servants can tend to your every whim, bringing you fresh Jell-O at the push of a button.

Being princess can be fun!  Especially when your royal subjects have to wipe your ass for you.
Why be princess, when you can be queen?  Tell your daughter-in-law just what she can do with her crappy cooking and her so-called career.  That bitch should be home cleaning anyway.
No crone catalog is complete without an assortment of muumuus.  Here are a bunch in lovely tackiness.  No figure needed.

You won't need to remember much, when these loud prints speak to you.  Just slip one on in time for your grandchildren's visit.  They will be certain to be traumatized by the sight of grandma in a tent.
Yeah, well, I got nothing. 

Cobbler Apron pretty much says it all by itself.

Do you need a special apron to coordinate with each dish you make?  I suppose you must need one for cobbler, or else why would they sell this?  Who knew cobbler was such a specialized art?

You can spend your days home with your cats making cobbler for the neighbors.  Creep them out, when they wonder - is this just puke in a plate or is it actually a baked good?  They may never know.  But you'll have this styling apron that you can wear.

Now, I ponder, how did they know that I am on the old lady downslide?  Was it all those trips to the dollar store?  Are they scanning my store receipts for evidence of Bengay?   Has homeland security has created an old person identifier program, where the elderly are trapped and secured as they turn?  Is the AARP reading my email?  Should I be worried?  Is it too late for me?

Hey, you kid, get the hell off of my lawn!

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