I Feel Like A Woman

There was a time when I could watch an hour of daytime TV. Minus the bon bons, of course. Thing One would wake from his nap, want to snuggle a little bit, and watch Dr Phil with me. Of course, that had to end when Thing One developed the uncanny ability to notice each and everything around him for what it was, including shameless ratings ploys disguised as family therapy. I realized I pulled the plug a little too late when I asked Thing One on the way to get shots what our Dr's name was, and he gleefully replied, "Dr. Phil!"

It is during daytime television that the keen advertisers work their hardest to sell moms like me on the idea that all things in our life-including ourselves and our children-stink, leak, break, confound us, and otherwise need covering up, propping up, or fixing up. My favorite was a commercial for Febreeze playing this summer. I always thought Febreeze was just for getting rid of dog- and husband-stank. Apparently, I have been wrong all along.

Enter beautiful woman who clearly has never pushed a 9 pound baby through her vagina, but who, we are to believe, wants to smell like a real woman and not like puke, snot, shit, boogers, and dried up string cheese that has been ground into her dry clean-only size 2 top. We are to infer this dilemma, because of course there is no baby or ground-string-cheese-covered-toddler anywhere in site in the whiteness that surrounds her. The happy announcer announces that sometimes, we just want to smell like a woman and not a mom.

Come on!! Even I don't buy into that one. We all know that a real woman does not smell like Febreeze.

A real woman smells like Marlboros and yesterday's track suit. And on a wet day, a little like Border Collie.