An Open Letter to Victoria('s Secret)

Hey Vikki,

So, I remember when I was younger and I'd wait with baited breath to see your little catalog show up in our mailbox... I'd rush out to get the mail nearly every day in hopes that I'd snag that sweet bit of publication before my mom found it.

Back then your pages were adorned with beautiful women in scantily clad "outfits" and I won't like.. I love every second of it. I'm guessing that somewhere down the road a therapist will tell me it was my adolescent obsession with thumbing through the pages of each and every installment that's warped my sense of what my ideal woman should be, but I simply don't give a damn.

The lovely young lady who lived in our residence before us must have been an avid customer of yours because a catalog addressed to her recently shimmied through our mail slot and onto our entry way floor. I have to admit, upon seeing your name scrawled across the top of that gleaming magazine weight cover I got a little twinge of sentiment for days gone by...

However, when I opened the cover... no skin. Flip a couple pages - no skin. Flip a few more - HANDBAGS? What in the heck Vikki? What happened to the little bit of erotica wrapped in a growing corporate idea that used to bring me, my friends and a billion other sex-starved teens their daily dose of almost porn?

We're through...

Yours,

Ron

p.s. I'm don't mean it baby. Please take me back.