As a general rule dictated by self preservation, I avoid cracking on the paper that I write for. But the cover story in Sunday's City section just refuses to go uncommented upon. The story is so ... well, you be the judge: "Golden Girls: There are blondes everywhere. But in New York, a city that thrives on symbols, they are a breed apart." I read this piece literally slack-jawed at its breathtaking inanity. In order to appreciate the richness of this absurdity, it should be read in full, but here's just one graph:
This polished, pedigreed creature can usually be spotted in her natural habitat, the Upper East Side, dropping off her offspring at the Episcopal School, scrutinizing embroidered 480-thread-count sheets at Pratesi and sipping drinks at La Goulue.
So here's my best impromptu dumb-blonde joke: What did the dumb blonde say when she saw a picture of herself in The New York Times? "I didn't know I could read!" Bah-da-bum.
Update: Of course, this is turning out to be one of the most emailed stories from Sunday's paper.