Dear Inventors, Take my sons

Categorized as Rhonda's Posts

Dear Inventors and Corporate Big Wigs (including, but not limited to My Pillow and Sealy Mattress Companies),

I am writing today to offer you the chance of a lifetime. As the mother of four sons, I have found the golden ticket. The magic bullet. The nuclear option that, should you choose to use it, could take us all from ‘good to great,’ from ‘kinda rich’ to ‘makin’ the President cry.’ Uh-huh.

Every week, it hits me as I’m standin’ in the checkout line–these aren’t actually boys that we’re raisin’. They’re food furnaces cleverly disguised as boys.

Here’s how it shakes out. You fall in love. (And it isn’t Rio that I’m blamin’. It was a pair of blue, blue eyes. But I digress.) That quick, you’re hitchin’ your wagon to his muscular star, and, well, ‘stuff happens.’ After what feels like the gestational equivalent of the African elephant, it’s time to deliver, and one more time, you’ve fallen in love.

With a squalling, red-faced, dimpled creature blinkin’ up with blue, blue eyes. Oh, my.

When the earth stops its shakin’ and the planets realign, you realize that life as you knew it just vanished like Huma Abedin’s grin. And that the minnow you’re holdin’ in your warm, loving arms can poop like a Great White Shark.

No lie.

Anyhow. How it goes is you start out feedin’ the little piranha all hours of the day and night. He eats and poos and grows and eats and poos and grows. In fact, he gets hungry, you learn, just from eatin’ (say amen). And suddenly, one day, he’s a teen. He’s still eatin’ all hours, day and night, but now he’s sleepin’.

Here’s where you-all come in. If sleeping in where an Olympic sport, I’d have some gold medal prospects. I mean it. Seasons come, seasons go. A politician fibs and another one paddles him, and someone somewhere’s stagin’ a coup.

They’re still sleepin’. Like babies.

You oughta see ’em. So still and peaceful and serene are they. So innocent and quiet, never movin’ a muscle ’til you set to wondering if they’re actually breathin’. Which is when you poke just a liiittttle bit with a pointy stick, and yup! They’re alive, all right. And starvin’.

Anyway. What I’m prepared to offer you is this, the Poster Boys of Pillow and Bed in a brand-new marketing campaign. I’ve analyzed their form (it’s 10.0), their loyalty to your products (unrivaled), and the extensive market research they’ve done. (Van Winkle only wishes he’d had that much time.)

Now, I’m givin’ you-all first crack, exclusive rights. If you’d like to come and view them in their natural habitat (you know, ten toes up?), then have your people get in touch with mine. Let’s make it happen.

Yours for a good night’s sleep and a healthy, robust, well-rested ‘bottom line,’

The Mom

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