The Miss Piggy Sow Landslide of '78

This little piggy went to Jenn's house... This little piggy...

...Went to Jenn's house, too.

This little piggy should have stayed home, but in a desire to clean one's knicknack shelves while simultaneously regifting... it also went to Jenn's house.

And thus continued the parade o' regrettable pork in my possession.

Frankly, I blame Miss Piggy.

It all started at Halloween when I was about seven, when a current Muppet Mania dictated that I should make my holiday debut as that porcine puppet diva. A skinny, flat-chested porcine puppet diva, albeit. But, say... Miss Piggy spokesporking for Jenny Craig.

The costume itself consisted of a purple satin dress, long white gloves, a string of pearls, a faux-fur coat, a blond wig, and a homemade mask cleverly created by my parents of window caulking.

The window caulking mask inspired awe among my mother's friends and the Halloween Costume Contest Committee...

And gave off chemical fumes that probably will explain a lot about me to you guys.

For my younger readers, I should note that the 70s were not the days of Child Safety. There weren't things like child safety seats, Mr. Yuk stickers, lead testing, or child-proof caps.

If little Suzie flew through the windshield, drank Drano, ate lead paint chips, or got brain damage from inhaling caulking fumes for four hours on Halloween night... well...

That just meant you'd have to replace her with another one that looked just like her, and hope no one noticed.

Kinda like goldfish.

So that was the atmosphere of the celebrated window caulking pig mask. And with the widespread success of Mom's homemade costume under our snouts, I suppose it was really only to be expected that the image would eventually become confused somehow among my mother's friends and my own relatives.

The nice ladies, these friends of my mother, these aunts of mine, would sometimes send along little tokens to me at my birthday or Christmas. Thoughtful gestures mainly as a courtesy to Mom.

But seamlessly... silently... and without warning whatsoever.... my appreciation for the character Miss Piggy somehow collectively transformed in each of their minds into the idea that:

"Jenn loves pigs."

And, boy, once those little piggies dug their hooves in-- oh, there was simply no going back!

Suddenly, I started receiving plaster pigs... hand-painted pottery pigs... pig t-shirts.... and pig pens (seriously, it was a pen with a plastic pink pig glued to it that read "pig pen." A comedy classic).

Pigs for birthdays... Pigs from Santa... Even pigs in honor of the Chinese Year of the Pig! Yep- for a good three solid years, these fine ladies had me entirely covered in pig products for every special occasion.

There was the pig beach towel with the mysterious letters "MCP" printed on it. (Years later it dawned on me the letters were supposed to stand for "Male Chauvinist Pig.")

And then the most... unique... of all of my pig gifts-- a glass pig toothpick holder. Three playful little oinkers in different positions, and plenty of room to put a whole box of picks for my teeth...

Just the sort of thing all the cool kids were asking for!

Of course, now I see my pig collection really helped Mom's friends clear out a lot of unneeded stuff. So at least there was a plus side.

Still- by about year two of perpetual birthday livestock, I was pretty sick of pork. I was begging my mother, "Please-- can't you tell them I don't really like pigs? We're from New Jersey, fer Pete's sake-- not Walton's Mountain! I've never even seen a real pig!"

But Mom was understandably mum. It was too late. There was no way to say I wasn't pro-pig without hurting their feelings...

I would simply have to accept it whole hog.

The last of the Pig Posse arrived at my high school graduation... but thankfully, by that time the line of swine had dwindled down to the occasional pig sticker, the odd and assorted porkly tchotchkie.

It was with some relief, I admit, that I left for college as those little piggies stayed home.

And the moral of the story, my friends?

Well, I guess that there's no business like sow business...

And she who puts lipstick on a pig to become the sow who carries the silk purse, will undoubtedly be casting pearls before the swine really fly.

Er... something like that.

And thus ends this tail.

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Anybody ever decide you folks should collect something you weren't really into? I'd enjoy hearing about it.

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