Pad Ponderings

If they dropped an alien down to earth and sat them on a couch to watch commercials for 24 hours, and then gave them a questionnaire about our society, they would sum up our entire culture as:

Men buy cars, watch football and drink beer.

Babies are incredibly intelligent creatures who can talk straight from the womb and give stock option advice.

And women are totally obsessed and have deep personal relationships with their mops and brooms.

If I have to look at one more commercial with a woman having a heartfelt discussion about her reason for choosing a wet mop over a standard bucket with soap, I am going to drown myself in a vat of Mr. Clean.

For some strange reason I feel like I am out of touch with my fellow females because honestly, this is not a topic that I ever worry or ponder about in my moments of reverie.

Just ask my floors, they will testify to that fact.

Is this what other gals obsess about?

Seriously?

We are bombarded with this grunge guilt trip about the unsightly muck in our grout and under our dining tables.

They even have little people in various costumes portraying the types of grime just waiting to be rescued by the proper lint attracting pads at the end of your Swiffer.

Mud covered cowboys, dust covered socialites and linty nerds lurking around in cracks waiting for their Prince Charming of Proctor and Gamble to whisk them away to dust bin Heaven.

My favorite part of these brain washing campaigns are the scenes where the long suffering woman is shown in a before and after split screen.

Her “Before” persona is clumsily slopping water everywhere like she is in the middle of having a stroke, she looks like she doesn't own a comb, and she is dressed in dingy rejects from the Goodwill rack.

Oh, and there is always some muddy dog running willy-nilly through her house with mud on his feet with some cretin kid fast on his heels spilling juice while she is standing there helplessly wringing her hands in despair.

Split screen “After” showcases her impeccably groomed, in her immaculate home, with a well-behaved pooch, and the kiddies dutifully doing their homework while she serenely swabs the deck with the proper mopping tool.

I'm tearing up just thinking about it.

My mother used to mop the floor with one of those string mops and a bucket of hot, soapy water, and I know what she would have done if we had ever run through her house pulling that kind of foolishness and acting like escapees from Juvenile Hall.

She would have wacked us over the head with her heavy wooden mop handle and it wouldn’t have mattered what kind of pad was stuck at the end of it.

She would have figured she could clean up whatever mess she made after the fact.

After all, she already had a bucket of hot, soapy water.

I'm wondering though, just what kind of costume do you think blood would be dressed in?

……..I’m just sayin’