those catalogues

I made the mistake of ordering a shampoo rack for my shower.

"Why is this a mistake?" you may ask.

It has gotten me on the mailing list for a collection of catalogues that seem to be targeted at those over age 90.

They are full of long-handled gadgets promising to protect me from every having to bend over, or reach up, for anything again. There are special brushes and contraptions to clean anything and everything. They promise to "protect" me, and everything I own ... special bags to store magazines to "protect" them (from what? I don't know) ... special socks to put over the legs of chairs to "protect" the floor. (Though what happens when said chair slides away from the person sitting on it, I'm not sure. The floor's fine, but the broken legs? Not so much.

Then there are all the things to increase my "comfort" ... in areas where I never knew I was uncomfortable ... magic pads to sit on, sleep on, stand on ... things to inhale and swallow and wear ...

The catalogues have a kind of horrible fascination ... there's the thought that people out there, somewhere, are actually wasting their pensions on special brushes to get the lint out of their dryer vents, and tomato-shaped containers to hold their tomatoes.

But then there is the most repulsive-sounding consumer item I've ever seen ...

Terry-cloth toilet seat covers.

I am not kidding.

The very thought of it just makes me feel ill.