Oh, you know the ones I’m talking about.
That one where they won’t stop talking about ORGIES. (Or maybe it’s 4G. Whichever.)
They’re the ever-present car, jewelry, and gadget commercials that make us all feel like a steaming pile of reindeer poop. The ones that suggest you’re probably not a real husband or wife if you don’t fork out some serious cash for blood diamonds this year. I mean, the holiday season is stressful enough, wouldn’t you say? How the hell are we supposed to get into the spirit while being bombarded with images of hipster car drivers with a keen ear for obscure piano music and PDA-loving, diamond-adorned romance novel characters?
It’s CHRISTMASTIME, not Armageddon for crying out loud!
In fact, just the other day, I was enjoying a moment of family harmony after dinnertime. In that brief, blissful five minute period, there were no quarters shoved in the Wii, no sweaty socks sitting on the dining room table, and no shrieks of horror bellowing from the laundry room. The four of us sat on the couch and clicked on the television for some educational programming when–
Jane Seymour strikes again.
Suddenly my husband was cursing under his breath about the impossible pressures that are placed on modern man while the children lamented the fact that our Christmas tree wasn’t topped with a Swarovski-studded star. I even found myself daydreaming about chocolate-covered diamonds and humming, “Every kiss begins with…STOP IT! STOP IT NOW!”
We tried to salvage the evening, but a few minutes later, we were subjected to that horrid Lexus commercial. You know the one.
WHY IS THERE A CAR IN OUR LIVING ROOM?!
I WANT A DIVORCE!
I’m not sure what type of feeling it’s meant to evoke, but I’m guessing RAGE isn’t what the advertising executives had in mind. And yet that’s all I can manage to muster when I hear that insipid tune followed by a look of recognition and excitement on some 1%-er’s face. What is this 1953, and we’re all on an episode of Name That Tune? At this point, my family had all had quite enough. My husband flipped the couch over, the children set fire to the Christmas tree, and I went off to find the vodka I buried in the back yard.
And as I lay there in the back yard, covered in dirt and mourning the days of Christmases past, I started scripting my own goddamn commercial in my head. Because who are these people who buy cars for Christmas, and where the hell do they get those ridiculous bows? WHERE? So here’s my version of a more realistic holiday commercial:
Scene: A bickering couple rides in their building’s elevator, late for a holiday party. She digs in her purse for a tape recorder to play the Lexus theme music and surprise her husband.
Him: What the hell are you looking for? Don’t tell me you left your wallet in the apartment, because we are NOT going back, Meegan.
Her: OHJUSTSHUTUPANDLISTENTOTHISMUSICFORAMINUTE! [Presses play.]
Him: I can’t hear anything.
Her: [Banging on tape recorder.] Jesus. I think it’s broken.
The elevator stops and opens. He walks out.
Her: NO WAIT! Why are you always trying to ruin my surprises?!
Him: What surprise? [Spots car parked in front of the building with a red bow.] Ha! Getta load of this! Some asshole bought a $45,000 car for his wife. He probably didn’t even ask her first. Surprise honey, I spent your retirement! What an idiot!
Her: Um, SURPRISE, honey! That’s for you!
Him: [Incredulous.] That’s for ME?
Her: [Beaming with satisfaction.] Mmm-hmm!
Him: Why the…I don’t….I mean…it’s…RED. Why are you always trying to emasculate me?! And are those cloth seats? God, this is the worst Christmas ever.
THIS is your American clientele, Lexus. Get it right next year for Pete’s sake.
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