Advertising Parents

I'm not going to advertise myself anymore. How I am clever and I love to bake and I will make you dinner and wash all of the dishes and vacuum your living room. I'm not going to sell myself to you anymore.

My parents worked in midtown Madison Ave advertising. They hosted clients every weekend and every holiday. They did photo shoots in our kitchen and dining room. 

We were all tax write offs.

My mother loved her Kitchen Aid dishwasher and three VOLVO's, renovated country house, more than us. 

The only time she cried was during sappy movies or when the VOLVO salesman dealer delivered the Volvo she ordered in the wrong shade of blue! 

Not when we were beat up at school

 or ostracized by our 3rd grade teacher, abandoned by our father

We were props.

 Strangers. 

And now they both are dead. 

And we are holding the bag of ashes.