Really? Another Magazine?

To say Bridget likes magazines is like saying little kids like ice cream and ponies. Or rednecks like Budweiser, mullets, and cars on cinder blocks. Or this kid liked getting a Nintendo 64 in 2006.

We're not talking like. We're talking love.

In fact, we're talking 22.2 pounds of love. I just weighed the last couple months of her magazines five minutes ago so I could get my facts straight. My question here is simple: Why? Why in the world does someone need all these magazines? (To be fair, this is not necessarily unique to lovely Bridget. There are several other women I know who would rather lose their left arm than their subscription to Marie Claire.)

Every day when I check our buckling mailbox, it's the same. Or, I guess, more correctly, it's different. Some days it's Rolling Stone, Entertainment, and Boston. Other days, it's Lucky, Women's Health, and Real Simple. But every day, like it or not, they come.

Does she read them all? Heck no. In fact, many of them sit in this snazzy container I bought her for last Christmas for months. ("A magazine container, Mike? How romantic!" ... "I know, I know. I spoil her.) I, on the other hand, find a couple articles in Sports Illustrated or The New Yorker and then go about my business for the week.

So, please, readers, help. Help me understand this little idiosyncrasy. What is this obsession with glossy pictures and regurgitated articles about hair, gardening, and the new exercise that will cut your weight in half by tomorrow? Are magazines just for comfort? Do they really add value? Are they just there to keep the scale busy?

Thoughts and comments are, as always, welcomed.