So I was watching this commercial showing a man and a woman standing at a bus stop in the rain. The man was holding up an umbrella, and he and the woman were exchanging shy smiles with each other, until ultimately the man offered to share his umbrella and the woman moved in closer to get under it with him.
So you’re thinking, “Ahh, how sweet,” though you may be wondering, as I was, what the commercial was actually supposed to be selling.
It was a commercial for Summer’s Eve Feminine Deodorant Spray.
The voiceover was talking about how with Summer’s Eve you can feel fresh, confident, and odor-free.
Okay.
So, not to be gross here, but given that she was still a fair distance away from the guy, and was fully-clothed (including a heavy raincoat), if she needs to make use of Summer’s Eve Feminine Deodorant Spray to feel confident enough to simply share this guy’s umbrella, in an open space, without him being overwhelmed by offensive odors from “down there,” I think this woman has serious medical issues that need to be addressed.
I mean, okay, if it were just a commercial for a regular deodorant, that would be one thing, but considering what Summer’s Eve is for, if this woman has cause to be that insecure about her ability to broadcast offensive odors she has definite issues with a very sensitive part of her anatomy.
Just covering up the symptoms isn’t enough, lady. Go see your doctor right away!
Okay, with the grossness aside, I have some additional comments to make about the commercial.
Obviously, if we imaginatively follow the progression of this exchange between Mr. Umbrella and Stinky Britches, we’re intended to believe that this chance encounter inevitably led to the two of them hooking up, and we can only pray that she gets to her doctor in time to ensure that the two of them can spend a long, happy, odor-free life together.
Still, potential odors aside, the whole thing just makes me wonder why I never have chance encounters like that.
Okay, so I never take the bus. Fair enough. The point, however, is that commercials, movies, TV shows, songs, and books indicate that these sort of chance encounters happen to people constantly.
And I mean, constantly. Basically you’re led to believe that you can’t walk out your door without practically tripping over some cute, single woman who’s just waiting for you to notice her.
It’s been nearly a year since the last time I had anything even approximating a “chance encounter,” and given that I am, as of this writing, still a bitter, single person, that should tell you something about how well THAT worked out.
Pretty much every attractive woman I see, on those times when I do venture out into the world, is pushing a cart with a minimum of two kids, usually a third (or fourth) on the way, and a huge freakin’ diamond on her finger.
Those are what I refer to as “no chance encounters.”
Contrary to what popular culture would have us believe, there really aren’t that many fish in the sea, or rather, there are; they’re just all swimming in pairs.
In the past ten years or so I’ve met a lot of people, and I can probably count on one hand the number of attractive single women under the age of 40 that I’ve met, and most of those can be eliminated from consideration due to the fact that they were insane, single by choice, or gay.
Even so, many of them are no longer single, and usually they were only single for very brief periods anyway, during which, if I was so inclined, I had to take a number and stand in line.
Okay, so you’re probably going to hit me with the notion that I’m “too picky.”
I suppose that’s a possibility, inasmuch as I would prefer someone to whom I feel at least the mildest attraction. I guess I could be less picky and start chasing after people I can barely stand to look at or be near.
So no, you’ll say, you don’t have to have no standards whatsoever; just don’t set them too high.
Hmm, okay, define “too high.”
Am I holding out for a supermodel? Of course not. Am I able to look past superficial appearances and see the person within? Sure. A woman who might be physically unremarkable can become much more attractive in my eyes if she has a great sense of humor, or she’s really intelligent or talented, or some combination thereof.
Most of the women I’ve fallen hard for in my life have been women most men wouldn’t even give a second look, but who've had something else going for them.
So the problem isn’t high standards, it’s that there’s basically just no one to apply any sort of standards to.
As far as I can determine, single women simply don’t exist.
They certainly don’t exist in my world, at least.
Admittedly, that’s a fairly small world, but as mentioned, popular culture tells us that the world is filled to overflowing with them, and if Mr. Umbrella and Stinky Britches have taught us anything it’s that these encounters can happen at any time as you go about your day to day existence.
So where are they when I go shopping? As mentioned, it’s very rare to see anyone over the age of 18 who isn’t married.
Where are they at work? My immediate co-workers currently consist of three other men and a woman who’s engaged to one of those men.
Okay, so what about cashiers? Bank tellers? Toll booth attendants? Circus sideshow freaks?
Believe me; if I’m not seeing them, it’s not for a lack of looking.
Maybe I should get out more, but out where? Bars aren’t really an option for me, and back when I used to hang out in them I pretty much encountered exactly what I encounter anywhere else anyway.
As I spend my days walking mile after mile along the various trails where I live I tend to encounter the same three married women and the same five balding men over and over again.
But maybe fitness is the key and I should join a gym.
It seems hard to justify the expense, though, considering my job and my apartment complex give me free access to exercise facilities.
Besides, given the proliferation of “for women only” gyms, it seems that the gym scene is already too overcrowded and inbred anyway.
So what’s the solution to my problem? I don’t know, and I’m inclined to believe that there is no solution, and that basically I’m just bitching.
That’s really all it is. I’m not looking for answers, or suggestions. I just want to bitch, and in the meantime I’ll work on accepting the fact that, since my family history suggests that I’ve got a good chance of being on this earth for another fifty years, I’m going to be flying solo for a long time to come.
Yep, I just need to accept the fact that I’ll probably never find a Stinky Britches to call my own…
No comments:
Post a Comment