Dear Mad Men,
I really love you. I think you are super fantastic and I tell all my friends to watch your show. I don’t have cable, so I would drive to my parents house to watch you during season two, but that got old, so I splurged and bought a season 3 pass on iTunes. That is how much I love your show. However, I am a bit tired of the “we’re such a stickler for historical accuracy” spiel. That is a fine ambition, but we all know you can never be 100% historically accurate. As a lover of period films, I have learned to accept that sometimes creative licenses need to be taken. I can even accept it from you, if you stopped talking about how anal you are about the tiniest detail. But until you step down from your “historically accurate” high horse, I am going to call you out when you mess up.
That cookbook looks pretty swell. Too bad it wasn’t published until 1967.
There are other things that bother me, like the Vietnam pre-draft dodger in 1963, or the pink bakery box. But I am willing to let it slide, in the name of artistic license. But only if you stop being a snob about your “accuracy”, okay? Okay.
I still love you,