I have discovered the worst commercial in the world.
It deeply offends me on behalf of most of the parents in our generation.
Here is the link to the 15 second spot in all its glory
but this is the gist.
Basically, in this spot for Embassy Suites a young mom is directing the omelet chef to make her child's omelet just so, not by speaking but by gesturing at the chef rudely as she seeks her child's approval at every turn.
When the chef dares to point his spatula towards a dish of mushrooms, the mom's eyes grow big and panicked as she looks to her son for his reaction to this. He smugly shakes his head and she waves her hand away vehemently like she's the third base coach in the world series insisting the runner stay the hell on second. The commercial ends with both mother and child agreeing that the omelet is perfect because (and here's when the mom's voice finally pops up in a voice-over) "It's just like I MADE IT!"
This offends me on so many levels I'm not quite sure where to begin. And I am NOT easily offended.
1. The kid in the commercial is at least 5 years old. Why CAN'T HE ORDER HIS OWN FOOD?! Instead of his mom gesturing at the poor chef like she's an air traffic controller landing a plane, why can't this kid say "Can I please have a ham and cheese omelet?"
2. The mom in the commercial is acting like the balance of the world's future hangs within what ingredients are going into her son's omelet. She looks terrified that perhaps a tiny piece of onion may slip into her little darling's eggs. I find myself at the edge of my seat, biting my nails to know what horrible thing might happen if her son's omelet doesn't get made exactly as she makes it at home. What is at stake here? Can no one make an omelet for her child as perfectly as this mom can? And what tragedy will befall this poor family if the omelet isn't made exactly to the child's specifications? The commercial doesn't say, but we can imagine the consequences would be dire indeed.
3. About the omelet being made to order. Unless your child has a food allergy, I dislike the perception that your CHILD MIGHT DIE if he doesn't have everything he wants exactly as he wants it and exactly as he's used to it. Did I miss the point somewhere along the line? Isn't going on vacation about TRYING NEW THINGS!? If my folks hadn't sent me to Myrtle Beach with a friend's family, I NEVER WOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT GRITS WERE! I could not imagine my life without grits. If my folks hadn't taken me to France I wouldn't be in the love affair with cheese that's kept me me satisfied and happy for nearly two decades now. How about teaching your children to be open to new things? Trying that venison? Taking a bite of the brioche? Sipping down ice-cold milk straight from a coconut? What is the mom in the commercial so afraid of? A tableside tantrum? Her cowed and panicked demeanor in the chef getting the omelet just right makes me think if she got it wrong her child would somehow tip the omelet bar over and kill chef with his own spatula while force feeding his mother all 10 lbs. of cubed ham.
The team of marketing geniuses behind this commercial have cottoned on to the fact that some parents are so anxiously stressed out and eager-to-please their children that they would stay at Embassy Suites JUST so that their children could have the exact breakfast they eat at home every day. But even though I've stayed at Embassy Suites before, and it was lovely, I AM NOW BOYCOTTING Embassy Suites until they personally apologize to me and other parents who both encourage our children to try new things in life and discourage them from thinking they are the kings and queens of our household. (Our household is more of a cult with one very charismatic leader...and it ain't either of my children.)
Because this commercial gives good parents a bad name. Don't portray us as rude ding-a-lings ruled by our children and expect us to stay at your hotel. I'm sick of it. We are not all a bunch of idiotic numskulls who fidget nervously, rudely directing a chef (with nary a please or thank you) to satisfy the whims of an entitled child. Many of us take our children on vacation and encourage them to try something new, even if it's a turkey leg at Disneyworld. And we insist they ask for it themselves and say thank you when it's been handed over.
Kid, you don't like what you ordered? Try three bites. Thank you. Variety is the spice of life.
I'm going to be very upfront about something. You won't be seeing a picture of me in a sports bra and boy shorts on social media any time soon. I've noticed this trend popping up lately as everyone shows their before and after pics but I'm pretty modest. That's not to take away from the people who get a lot of pride and motivation out of posting these pictures but it's just not for me. And there's a context issue. While I'd be comfortable on the beach in my bathing suit with whoever, I just don't want pictures of a scantily dressed me popping up on a Facebook feed next to my cousin's newborn baby and a recipe for gluten-free lasagna. But these before-and-after pictures are generally posted with an emphasis on working out, weight loss and eating more nutritiously -- all of which are really good things.
Because as much as I wish I could eat mass quantities of Broad Street Dough and NEVER exercise, I think that eating healthily and exercising is really important. Not just so you whittle yourself away to nothing, but so you're strong, happy and possess an energy level higher than that of a snail. For the past 4 months, I have been exercising at least four times a week which is massive, considering the number of times I exercised from September to January was ZERO.
And I hate exercising. I mean, I really, REALLY hate it. I hate it more than the NJ Housewives, the wardrobe of Miley Cyrus and Goldschlager combined.
While I'm on a run, I waver between feeling like I'm being tortured and praying that no one is watching me. It's awful. Like really, really awful.
When I take my weekly karate class, I curse under my breath as I'm made to do squat thrusts, spar guys twice my size who bat me away like a fly and plank for two minutes at a time. "Why am I DOING THIS to myself?" I wonder angrily, thinking I could be home curled up with a book, a wheel of brie and a box of chocolates from the Red Bank Chocolate Shoppe.
However, as much as I truly HATE AND DESPISE working out, I love having exercised.