Bananaversaries are wonderful. And, for the uninitiated- i.e., anyone I’m not directly related to and/or folks that don’t have to endure my lax take on the English language- I once gave my sister and bro in-law a card with two dancing bananas. Okay, they may not have been dancing. But they were celebrating an anniversary. Hence, bananaversary.
And that is the only acceptable word for which to describe a milestone in Chez Schoeny. (And Flynn. And Grant.)
So, the bananaverse was lovely. We spent a great, extended weekend in Cincy with Peej’s fam; coffee with Dorrie, her pal Bridget and their boys (born the same week as Nora!), an exquisite jaunt to the Gap/Banana Republic/Old Navy clearance outlet in Kentucky (we actually caused a register to sit the next one out), a walk to the farmer’s market in Hyde Park Square (where, inexplicably, a woman handed my daughter a hat- from Old Navy, no less), and a positively revelatory Martin Sexton concert, whereupon he played four of my top eight [silently] requested songs. And the day itself? Although not too much like our wedding day; a seven hour trip through the Midwest, lunch at a roadside burger joint in Indiana, a miniature person sporadically screaming her displeasure directly into my nostril…it also wasn’t entirely not like our wedding day. Bed by 9pm was a new addition, as were smashed peas in my hair.
Miss N.J. was spoiled beyond recognition by the morning we left for home. Seriously. I think she’s bored with just me, as opposed to a household of people exclaiming how perfect she is. She’s too polite to ever say so…but still. It’s totally the White Elephant in the room.
And now: The Issues.
In Advertising.
First up, we have Captain Morgan. We saw a few billboards on Route 65 for the new “Lime Bite.” At first we thought it was just another malt beverage- and, side note: Why are the commercials for these drinks always featuring guys at a bar or a loft party? If you were on a date, say, with a non-heterosexual, fully aged male and he asked for a Zima, or a Smirnoff Ice, or something of that ilk, wouldn’t you question his tastes?
I did- er, would.
Sure, they’re tasty. And pure sugar. But perhaps revealing that sort of preference should be reserved for a second or third date? In the comfort- and privacy- of one’s home? With no other fully aged males around?
But back to the Captain. Lime spiked rum? Really? How hard is it to, you know, spike your rum with lime? There’s only one ingredient. (And, if you drank “real” drinks, you’d already have one on hand.) So, for whom are they making this easier? One word: teenagers. Or, two words: tween girls. Leading us to believe that, for all his bravado, Captain Morgan is no better than Tony the Tiger.
Second up: Lanacane Anti-Chafing Gel. Oh…where to start. Here’s the copy from the circular:
LANACANE Anti-Chafing Gel
Soothes and Prevents CHAFING (Soreness from skin rubbing on skin and skin on clothing)
ANTI-FRICTION FORMULA (Dries On Contact)
FEELS SILKY (Long-Lasting Comfort)
NON-GREASY (Non-staining, Moisture-Proof)
The ad features a slightly larger than average middle-aged woman. Dancing. Happily. Lifting her skirt, even. To twirl? To show off her non-raw thighs? Who knows.
Directly behind her is a girl, jogging, elbows asunder, gleefully living the chafe-free lifestyle. Or she could be running towards the dancing woman.
Which is clearly what the slightly larger than average middle-aged man next to Jogging Girl is doing. Or dancing. Poorly. But chafe-free as well. He could be looking for a new dance partner. Or he could simply be drawn towards the woman’s loose morals and/or chafe-free thighs which are on display for the entire Greater Chicagoland area to see.
Maybe Jogging Girl is their daughter.
Perhaps they have bigger familial issues than whether or not one’s thighs are rubbed raw in the day to day lascivious lifestyle this woman is clearly leading.
And maybe if she’s so concerned about receiving an entire day’s worth of relief from a body part touching another body part (and unless she’s competing in a dance marathon), she should just sit down.
And finally, speaking of advertising, shameless self-promotion, and websites (clearly, you enjoy a good website or two): might I ask that you take a gander towards the Top Mommy Blogs button on my sidebar? It takes two clicks: one on the button, one to vote for me. No email addy required, no spam, nothin’ but good, ol’ fashioned appreciation in anonymously bloggy form.
It’s actually pretty misleading. One doesn’t have to be a Mommy Blogger to be featured on that site. Or even “Tops.” But I do have the goal of making it to the top five humor blogs on their page (I dream so, so big.)
You can click once a day, if you’d like. Twice a day (or more!) from separate computers or various handheld-y objects. But actually, if you have all this extra cash to throw around on multiple means of communication, I’m not above receiving monetary appreciation, either.
Totally your call.
Or you can say it with ponies.
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