Warning Signs for Men to Avoid Longaberger Basket Hell
The country is currently struggling through many problems; crime, global warming, threats of terrorism, etc...
But a new issue has slowly been weaving its way into the lives of married men throughout the country.
The Longaberger basket is overtaking the homes and financial well being of men at a rapid pace.
I have experienced this tumor-like growth in my own home and want to offer insight on what can and will happen when you lose your home to the witches of wicker.
The problem is conceived at a basket party.
This develops when a friend of your wife gives an invitation to a Longaberger Basket party.
Oh it seems harmless enough, some food, box of wine and some overly excited hostess demonstrating the use of wooden baskets.
But the uses of these different baskets are similar to duct tape, there are hundreds of them.
There are baskets for recipes, magazines, car keys, loose change, dentures, hub caps, prosthetic arms and legs.
They even have a basket which is a purse.
Women open their basket to get money to buy more baskets.
It never ends.
As the wine flows, so does the ink on the order forms.
Women get excited about what they've seen and all the uses they've discovered for the baskets and start picking everything in the catalog.
Credit card numbers and order forms are collected by the basket barker.
Get it (bark)er.
Of course what's a women's party without gossip.
Gossip is so prevalent that Longaberger considered designing a maple wood fence that party goers could stand and talk over...
like neighbors.
Roughly two weeks after the party the hostess shows up at your door with boxes in tow.
Inside these are the spoils of your wife's one night stand with the Longaberger lady.
As she begins to remove the baskets you notice something.
These things are three-ply.
First you have the basket itself.
Then there is a decorative cloth liner followed by a plastic cover to protect the liner.
When all is said and done it looks roughly like your grandmother's sofa.
But you have another problem.
The seeds have been planted and they germinate quickly.
Much like creeping ivy, your rooms and hallways will soon be covered in woven wood.
First, your wife is now obligated to host her own Longaberger party.
This has a double effect.
Not only will she order more baskets but earns points toward free baskets.
This is her reward for hosting the party.
Secondly, each friend at the party will eventually host one themselves.
Your wife will attend and order more baskets.
By this time you know the UPS driver by name and actually help him unload the truck when he arrives at your house.
After each time the driver leaves you look around your living room and you begin to feel like Captain Kirk in the Star Trek episode, Trouble with Tribbles.
Thirdly, as more baskets arrive, the more your wife will search for things to put into them.
Recipes, pens, books, pets, and bills, go into their designated basket.
The reed from the increasing wicker wonderland reeks of cedar chips.
You may get the urge for sunflower seeds and to run on a giant hamster wheel.
But just when you feel you've lost your mind something snaps you back into reality.
You wander into your living room and see something that, as a man, you know is morally wrong.
There in a Longaberger basket is your television remote.
You stare and let one lone tear run down your cheek like the American Indian in the littering commercial.
Your wife has crossed the line and you begin to have visions of a giant wicker bonfire.
Carefully you remove the remote with the care you'd give a new born bird.
You put the remote where it rightfully belongs...
in your underwear waistband.
Maybe if Longaberger made a basket with Fruit of the Loom elastic around it we may think about using it; until then the remote stays with us.
The thoughts of the bonfire fade and instead you grab the basket and your Big Bertha Driver and head outside.
Teeing up the wicker you waggle the big dog and gleefully swing away.
Wicker strands and shards explode like a balsa wood shuttle on bad re-entry.
You've just won a small battle.
I can't say I've come up with an answer to this obsessive and financially scary behavior, but as a person living in a wicker world all I can do is offer the warning signs.
Help your spouse say no because a world without baskets is a world without lattice barriers.
But a new issue has slowly been weaving its way into the lives of married men throughout the country.
The Longaberger basket is overtaking the homes and financial well being of men at a rapid pace.
I have experienced this tumor-like growth in my own home and want to offer insight on what can and will happen when you lose your home to the witches of wicker.
The problem is conceived at a basket party.
This develops when a friend of your wife gives an invitation to a Longaberger Basket party.
Oh it seems harmless enough, some food, box of wine and some overly excited hostess demonstrating the use of wooden baskets.
But the uses of these different baskets are similar to duct tape, there are hundreds of them.
There are baskets for recipes, magazines, car keys, loose change, dentures, hub caps, prosthetic arms and legs.
They even have a basket which is a purse.
Women open their basket to get money to buy more baskets.
It never ends.
As the wine flows, so does the ink on the order forms.
Women get excited about what they've seen and all the uses they've discovered for the baskets and start picking everything in the catalog.
Credit card numbers and order forms are collected by the basket barker.
Get it (bark)er.
Of course what's a women's party without gossip.
Gossip is so prevalent that Longaberger considered designing a maple wood fence that party goers could stand and talk over...
like neighbors.
Roughly two weeks after the party the hostess shows up at your door with boxes in tow.
Inside these are the spoils of your wife's one night stand with the Longaberger lady.
As she begins to remove the baskets you notice something.
These things are three-ply.
First you have the basket itself.
Then there is a decorative cloth liner followed by a plastic cover to protect the liner.
When all is said and done it looks roughly like your grandmother's sofa.
But you have another problem.
The seeds have been planted and they germinate quickly.
Much like creeping ivy, your rooms and hallways will soon be covered in woven wood.
First, your wife is now obligated to host her own Longaberger party.
This has a double effect.
Not only will she order more baskets but earns points toward free baskets.
This is her reward for hosting the party.
Secondly, each friend at the party will eventually host one themselves.
Your wife will attend and order more baskets.
By this time you know the UPS driver by name and actually help him unload the truck when he arrives at your house.
After each time the driver leaves you look around your living room and you begin to feel like Captain Kirk in the Star Trek episode, Trouble with Tribbles.
Thirdly, as more baskets arrive, the more your wife will search for things to put into them.
Recipes, pens, books, pets, and bills, go into their designated basket.
The reed from the increasing wicker wonderland reeks of cedar chips.
You may get the urge for sunflower seeds and to run on a giant hamster wheel.
But just when you feel you've lost your mind something snaps you back into reality.
You wander into your living room and see something that, as a man, you know is morally wrong.
There in a Longaberger basket is your television remote.
You stare and let one lone tear run down your cheek like the American Indian in the littering commercial.
Your wife has crossed the line and you begin to have visions of a giant wicker bonfire.
Carefully you remove the remote with the care you'd give a new born bird.
You put the remote where it rightfully belongs...
in your underwear waistband.
Maybe if Longaberger made a basket with Fruit of the Loom elastic around it we may think about using it; until then the remote stays with us.
The thoughts of the bonfire fade and instead you grab the basket and your Big Bertha Driver and head outside.
Teeing up the wicker you waggle the big dog and gleefully swing away.
Wicker strands and shards explode like a balsa wood shuttle on bad re-entry.
You've just won a small battle.
I can't say I've come up with an answer to this obsessive and financially scary behavior, but as a person living in a wicker world all I can do is offer the warning signs.
Help your spouse say no because a world without baskets is a world without lattice barriers.