There's a weird perception on Madison Avenue that most of America earns their living painting surfboards. If they aren't painting surfboards, most of America are pushing their grandchildren on a swing set placed mysteriously in the middle of the woods. Or maybe we're meeting dark-eyed and sultry lovers in a cobble-stoned square in some Mittel-European city that somehow escaped destruction during World War II.
There's a weird perception on Madison Avenue that clueless schlubs who live to watch television and drink beer, for whom tragedy is running out of salsa, get pert blondes without a scintilla of body fat and assertive little breasts that are eager to introduce themselves through their blouse.
There's a weird perception on Madison Avenue that happiness and fulfillment is contingent on how many bars you have and can be purchased for $49 a month with unlimited texting.
There's a weird perception that people dance spontaneously when they are happy. High-five their co-workers. Have sardonic and well-groomed children. That our entire nation can raise a single collective eyebrow as a national display of irony.
Have we as a nation completely forgotten about waxy yellow build-up?
