Click cover to enlarge it
No matter which television station you turned to, no matter where you looked, merchants had already launched their Christmas advertising campaign.
“For the Christmas gift that lasts a lifetime, give your child a Polaroid camera, so simple to operate, even a six year old can take perfect pictures everytime. . . .“
Or… “Come on down to Uncle Ralph’s Santa store and see our complete line of Mattel toys. (Pause) Kiddies, bring your Mommy and Daddy down and show ‘em our special shelf of non-violent toys. We have battery-operated flying saucers, Viking space ships. . .”
And it wasn’t even Thanksgiving yet! moaned Bella Brandon, wiping her soapy hands on her apron and brushing a wisp of auburn hair back behind her ear. She snapped off the television set—the portable one she’d won in the Auto Worker’s Local No. 37 Wive’s spring lottery. It flickered and died just in time. Standing in the doorway, one shoe off, jelly smeared over his face, Bella’s five year old son Shelly had heard the television ad and was getting wide-eyed over Christmas. On the last trip to Stonestown Circle, the local shopping center the damnable store Santa Claus had pulled Shelly aside (conveniently outside of Uncle Ralph’s Santa Store) and drilled the child on what he wanted from Santa. That had planted ideas in the kid’s head, and now, everyday, every minute it was …
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.