And I Thought I Was Dumb...

I've done some pretty stupid things over the years to aggravate women both in and out of my life. Even this Neanderthal knows better than to (1) make cracks about their looks to their faces; (2) disparage their love for bodice-ripping romance novels; or (3) show any hostility to their cats, bathroom wicker baskets, or the ratty stuffed animals from their childhood that lie scattered around their Laura Ashley-designed bedrooms like Dickensian waifs. Oh, yes! Potpourri dishes of cinnamon and lavender flakes came in handy during those years when I would use them secretly as ash trays.

So why in the name of Walter Camp, when advertisers know that at least 40% of all Super Bowl viewers have the double X chromosome, would Teleflora spend zillions of dollars to run an advertisement this blatantly dumbass, misogynistic, and cruel?





I felt really badly for Diane, the woman in this commercial. Guys like me have a built-in capacity for rejection, dejection, abjection, and self degradation. It's a liquid gurgled daily. It tastes like Shinola. I've lapped it from the horse trough ever since I stopped lighting matches to see if snow would burn.

Someone once sent roses to me at my office. I opened the box. The funny-looking rhododendrons looked dead, but the flaccid stamens lifted their pointy heads and wrote out the sender's message on my pant leg. I was so humiliated I retreated back into my office and swore I would never again date anyone working at Jim Henson's Creature Shop. I took a few deep breaths, then snuck off to the closest gun range to make my feelings known to the local bird and rodent population

If I were the woman in that commercial, I would rent out all but one the talking roses to a high school production of Little Shop of Horrors. Then I would gussy myself up, drive over to the sender and pistil whip the slug with the one remaining flower.

Then I would kick back and choose from any one of these romance novel trailers to weep over while waiting for the police to arrive.