Beth's post today on breast feeding ads is HILARIOUS, and one that I can certainly relate to. Please welcome her to Meno Mama's site with lots of comment love!
Online Media Marketing Misfires Again
“We are so excited to let you know that today is the day ...” sucked me in. A poster child for adult ADHD, I am easy prey for those on fishing (and phishing) expeditions.
My keyboard began to pulsate, the keys rising and falling in anticipation.
“Yoomi Bottle Hits Shelves Today in U.S.”
I read on. “Yoomi Bottle is a feeding system that warms expressed breast milk ...” Well, there’s good news! For some women, perhaps. For this grandmother, the news is decades late. I lost interest in babies, breast milk, pumps and self-warming mammary-produced nourishment when Tricky Dick was in the White House.
Gagging on the breast-pump hype, I spit up on my monitor. Still smarting from my recent mammogram, I declined the offer for images. My teats are still black and blue from the radiology department’s medieval crushing device. Why would I want full-color pictures?
I thought about ignoring the messenger (or shooting her). Then, taking the high road, I replied to her query.
Dear Publicist Trying to Make Your Quota:
I haven’t breastfed since the 1970s. My son and daughter are in their forties. Fortunately, they outgrew their love of breastfeeding well before leaving the nest for college.
Believe me, I wish I could produce milk. I’d have money in the bank, a steady supply of cheese, and I could star in my own (un)reality show.
In the future, please don’t send me messages pertaining to: breast milk (warm, cold, room temperature or anywhere in between), infantile seborrheic eczema, nursery art designed by Jeff Koons, projectile vomiting, prickly heat, recyclable stuffed animals, state-of-the-art nasal aspirators, banana recipes to combat loose poop, toys with moving parts, outlier pediatricians, infant carriers made of bamboo, family photographers, antidotes to lead paint ingestion, books on the joys of camping with your toddlers, probiotic cures for ear infections, $300 Ralph Lauren onesies, sterling teething rings, or undescended testicles.
I want no further communiqués from your company, unless your clients also sell: adult diapers, gas busters, energy boosters, memory enhancers, varicose vein concealers, facial hair removers, cellulite zappers, mood menders, or low-calorie beer that tastes like the real thing, not tap water from rusty pipes.
Thank you for your time.
Beth Rubin began writing funny stories to avoid gym (she hated the uniforms)―also, babysitting her brother and helping with household chores. Eureka! She’d discovered a dodge that has served her well throughout her wanton life. A freelance journalist and author, she has won awards for fiction, non-fiction, and her killer brownies. Her steamy novel, Split Ends, won a first prize for fiction in 2002. A screenplay is in the works, and a second novel is in the oven. Fancying herself a spokeswoman for the prune juice generation, she mines her colorful family for material. She’s fashioning her humorous blogs (Beth, Bad and Beyond) into a book that will see the light of day before she sports tight blue curls. Her features and essays appear in lifestyle magazines and newspapers (the few still breathing), and on the Web. She is the author of Frommer's Washington, D. C. With Kids (all 11 editions―Oy!), The Complete Idiot's Guide to Washington, D.C., Washington, D.C. for Dummies, and Delaware Curiosities. Beth also edits, collaborates and ghostwrites; coaches new authors, generates content, and does media outreach for anyone who pays within 30 days.