I’m sitting here, eating left over chili dog that my daughter didn’t want. It’s cold, but it’ll do. I simply couldn’t garner the energy to make myself a fresh one. Ten hour work day, packing for a move, grading essays, and waiting for the one fingernail I had to re-paint to dry. I remain grateful, but my journey to urban zen is rudely interrupted by what I am deeming one of the most infuriating commercials of 2014. Can you guess? Well, you don’t have to cuz I’ll gladly tell you:
Take the next 30 seconds to relish in this little beauty.
You know what I did, right? One of these:
Yes. I took out special time to rant about this travesty of a commercial because:
1. It’s yet another demonstration of advertising’s inability to see my black ass as anything but a church singin, smilin’ mammy. Note big mama wailing out a super so-saved run at the end (hiya, and hi-yaaaaahhhh!). First Black president? Nope. Release of Marissa Alexander? Negative. The cancellation of Preachers’ Daughters? Naw. Self-actualization and spiritual empowerment? No, thanks. I’m celebrating over laundry! Eye roll. Middle finger up. F— you very much.
2. It tries to make my least favorite chore of laundry look like a celebration just because GAIN smells good. Guess what? So does a honey glazed ham, but I’m sure the hell not inclined to devote the time to cook one every day. Dumb asses. Not to mention the fact that it takes no more than one night of post-milkshake flatulence, an overcooked bag of microwave popcorn, or one of my daughter’s mani/pedi marathons to wipe out what they are proposing is the enduring heavenly scent of GAIN in our homes. I object.
3. They have the audacity to show a woman savoring the smell of her sheets that have just dried on the line outside. Oh sure, I’m certain that after scraping together enough clothespins to hang my linens up (because I guarantee you my son has tried to make some kind ammunition or craft project out of them, so half them bitches are lost now), straining to make my short ass arms get everything fastened and secure (and completely pitting out in the process), waiting who knows how long it would take for sheets to air dry in this wet ass spring Washington state weather, I can’t wait for my sheets to fall upon my face so I can breathe in the mind blowing fragrance of GAIN. Yep, that’s every woman’s dream. Hey GAIN, here’s another mind blower for you: electric dryer yield far more smiles from busy Betties across the land than a clothesline ever could. I’m not Celie and me and Nettie are prancing about the clearing as we hang Mista’s socks in the cracks. Imbeciles.
4. How dare you minimize that handsome bald brother to a sheet sniffing goober that’s laid up in the bed with a bunch of harmonizing strangers in his bed?! You could have easily shown him and his son (since you think you’re being so damn progressive), folding clothes in front of the TV like normal, everyday, hard working folk. You’re dead to me.
You may be thinking, damn Betty, hard day? Such ranting is surely the result of misplaced anger. To that I say: BINGO!
Monday kicked me square in the chest and negativity is doing the nae-nae across my face. And, it’s laundry night.
Okay, I’m done. Pray for me ya’ll.