Right there, next to the Chex and the napkins, the New York Times Style section was mooning me.
I picked it up and blinked several times, finally walking to the other room and asking my wife, “Why is there a naked butt on the front of the Style section?”
“A what?” she asked.
I unfolded the section and … oh.
I wasn’t being mooned at all.
“What are you talking about?” my wife asked.
I showed her the folded page and then the full page. She frowned. The headline taunted me. So I dragged my sorry derrière – both the real and the imagined – back to the dining room, wondering whether Mad magazine had an opening for someone to create fold-ins for its inside back cover.
Life is all about context, I reminded myself. I just needed a reminder.