I worked at home today, because I’m lazy and my toe is blackened and I was feeling sorry for myself. At lunch time, I turned on the TV, and soaked myself right up to my sorry little eyeballs in commercials, because I love them more than real-life murder TV shows. True story. They reinforce all my favorite stereotypes: Women are extra-capable supermodels with shiny hair and wry-sexy-bemused eye crinkles! Men are buffoonish adorable cartoon characters who can’t do anything for themselves! Old ladies love sex! Old men love sex! Americans love sex! Wait, where was I?
Oh, yes, I know. The Overstock.com lady. Have you seen this person? She’s making me mental. For those of you who have lives, allow me to recap. The Overstock.com lady is a 40ish sexy-eye-crinkle TV ad person who wears all white (with occasional splashes of red) and looks earnestly and a bit too intently into the camera while she exhorts you to purchase things from the website Overstock.com. The site itself, I gather, is some sort of clearing center for fashion and accessories, and, I don’t know, tampons and scented candles and aromatherapy lotion. My point is that women are the obvious core audience here, so I’d really like for someone to explain to me why it is that the Overstock.com lady keeps looking at me like she’s seen my underpants. It makes no sense and it’s really starting to make me uncomfortable.
“It’s all about the ‘0’!” The Overstock.com lady says, winking so I don’t miss her meaning, and then she’s magically lost all her clothing but a gold Overstock.com “O” necklace.
I’m sure she’s a lovely person and all, but I just don’t feel that way about her. Maybe I should tell her how much I hate shopping? Even online shopping makes me itchy and nervous, as if I were being required to slouch around a Delia’s while my sister felt the same sleeve for half an hour, like she does, as I feel my knees lock and blood pool in my feet and my will to live slowly, slowly sap away.
This reminds me. Here is the best statement on shopping ever. Mrs. P’s brother-in-law Stephen and his lovely girlfriend Jenny (her name is my name, too) came to visit a few weekends ago, and we all went to Newbury Street, which is a shopping mecca in Boston. After we took poor Stephen to his third shoestore, he collapsed on the stoop and declared, “That’s it. You guys go on ahead. I’m just going to sit right here on the cold cement and bash my nutsack with a hammer.”
Whereupon, his lovely girlfriend Jenny said, “That sounds nice, Stephen. Let’s go find you a hardware store.”