2005-04-12 - 8:04 a.m.
Advertising is your friend. Trust me - I wouldn't lie to you...
I want an Esuvee doll, dammit. Those things are cute. I wonder - maybe if I write to the person who's the contact for the ad agency, if they might let me have a promotional Esuvee. Assuming they made any other than the one the little girl is holding in the ad. Actually, the site is entertaining in that "public health announcement that we're trying to make cool" kind of way. And the press photos of the full-size Esuvee mascot on "Good Morning America" (or one of those morning shows, anyway UPDATE: I checked again; it was the "Today" show. Sorry.) are really quite cute. Ah, television. We watched "Nanny 911" last night (because we like torturing ourselves sometimes), and I had a little twinge of first-marriage PTSD over the behaviour of the husband, who was, frankly, a pig to his wife. Bob thought the program would end with them calling "Divorce Lawyer 911". I thought that was a fantastic idea for a series - Bob comes to people's houses, watches them for a couple of days, and gives them a timeline of how long their marriage will last if they keep treating each other like that. The most interesting shows will end with him pulling out the divorce papers then and there. It's only a matter of time before Fox options the idea, you know it. Anyway - we both thought this was going to be bad, but it all ended happily, with a renewal of commitment to each other, and all four kids suddenly behaving like little angels. I know how they did it. Pod people. The Nannies bring pod people with them, and hide them under the beds - in four days they hatch, and by the end of the week, everything is fine. Well, there's really no other explanation - unless they *said* they were there for a week, but it was really three months, edited to look like a week, with the lobotomies, electroshock therapy, and massive medication doses edited out. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. The pod people theory, that is. Mmmmm - Esuvee doll. Man, I want one. I missed out on having my very own Nauga (though I had a friend in high school with one), and the Esuvee is even cuter. Ads are fun, sometimes, aren't they? Or not - the ads for "female" stuff are just annoying. If I'm young, I can only be cool at "that time of the month" if I'm thin, wear white, and only use certain kinds of things that pretend I'm not a woman who has any body functions at all - at least, not so's anyone can tell. (Though, unless I say something, no-one can tell anyway, and if I suddenly started wearing all white, people would definitely know something was up.) If you're older, of course, you need hormone therapy, or natural non-estrogen (like estrogen isn't natural) therapy, or just suffer in silence (you uppity demanding woman, you!). Plus, I get to look forward to needing to pee all the time, and trying to conceal my wrinkles, and my grey hair, and keeping my teeth in when I eat apples. I think I can deal with all of this, as long as they don't make me wear the ugly clothes. Apparently, the loss of estrogen at menopause causes a severe drop in taste levels, and you're compelled to go out and buy incredibly ugly sweaters in really horrible colours. For that reason alone, I would be okay with the increased risk of heart attacks and uterine cancer ("If you have a uterus", the ads say, which always makes me think "ah, this medication is okay for men, then") that taking extra estrogen may bring on. If it means the grannies don't come and drag me off to the underground clothing exchange where they take away all my cool clothes and give me a thirty-year supply of clothing that's at least thirty years out of fashion, then I'm okay with the chance that I might die a little earlier. At least then I won't suffer through years of decorated sweatshirts suitable for every holiday season and outfits that make people's eyes bleed. Menopause does things to people - like making them think that stuff like the "Red Hat Society" is cool. Like many things Americans glom onto, the original poem has lost all meaning and been changed to accommodate a marketing extravaganza for post-menopausal women who have tragically lost the ability to pick out flattering outfits. Bob said "When I am an old woman, I shall wear purple. "...and sweat a lot." I think that sums it up for me. Estrogen therapy, here I come! (Thanks to Bob for the "underground bad clothing depository" idea.) Also, my comments counter isn't working, but there are comments. Feel free to leave one of your own.)
Dorsal - Ventral
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all words copyright Laura Mellin 2000-2005
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