Recently, The Baby Einstein Company settled a threatened lawsuit because its videos didn’t make babies suddenly wipe the drool off their chins and start spouting the principles of physics. (Did parents really think plopping their babies in front of a TV screen would bolster the tots’ IQs? And if so, are the babies’ IQs the ones we should be worrying about?) I have nothing against Baby Einstein videos. I probably would’ve gone two years without being able to take a shower if it weren’t for the videos, so my husband is absurdly grateful, too. But I’m all for making a buck. And the Baby Einstein lawsuit has inspired me to write to the manufacturers of all those other products that haven’t lived up to their promises.
Dear Safeway Select Entrees: I admit your dinner for two seduced me. I have three young boys and a big slobbery dog, and my dress-up clothes are sweatpants. Your products seemed to gaze at me with heavy-lidded promise, beckoning enticingly from the frozen foods aisle. All I had to do was heat and serve—so much simpler and cheaper than a romantic couple’s getaway to Paris, but with all the fringe benefits! Yet unlike the models who demonstrate your product on TV, I wasn’t moved to gaze flirtatiously at my husband, then suck my index finger after dipping it into your sauce. And instead of arriving home with a bouquet of flowers and staring at me with dimly disguised lust as he heated up faster than his entree, my husband walked in and reached for the TV clicker. And the dog stole pasta from my plate when I went to break up a fight between our two older boys. Damages sought: $3,000, enough for a long weekend in Paris, plus a new commercial featuring people who scream, “How can anyone burn something in the microwave?” before hurling their Safeway Selects at one another.
Dear Johnson & Johnson Bedtime [ha!] Bath: The baby you are using in your commercial is clearly a plastic doll, which I believe violates all sorts of truth-in-advertising laws. Furthermore, I followed the instructions on your product to the letter—putting a precise capful of your lavender-scented lotion into my baby’s bath and soaping him gently while I tried to replicate your actress’ loving (yet, it must be noted, somewhat vacant) smile. Then I nestled him into his crib. Your ad seems to promise the gentle notes of lavender will drug infants into a glorious, deep slumber, yet my baby clearly did not watch your commercial. He reared up like a young lion and roared like a fully grown one. If his scream had been translated into words, they would have made Tony Soprano blush. After two minutes, my husband and I brought the baby into our bed, where he burped repeatedly and lay lengthwise between us all night, forcing us to cling to the opposite edges of the mattress. We would’ve tried Safeway Selects to remedy the situation later, except, you know…. Damages sought: a night nurse for the next two years.
Dear Special K: Seriously? Replace two meals a day with cereal for two weeks? Eat cereal for 28 almost-consecutive meals? You can keep your freaking bikini. Damages sought: elastic-waist pants.
Dear General Foods International Coffee: First of all, there is nothing the slightest bit international about you. I’d wager French people do not consume your “French Vanilla Café” flavor beverage. I’m fairly certain they would not even use it to bathe their tiny dogs. I’m seeking compensation because you promised that if I sipped your coffee, the background noises of my life would recede, I’d enjoy a peaceful, caffeine-fueled interlude and possibly meet a waiter named Jean-Luc.
I’d like to invite the executives of your company to my house for coffee—let’s say at 10 a.m. next Saturday. I’ll hand you my baby—who has recently learned how to tear off his own diaper—and let you gaze dreamily into the distance. The catch is that you must simultaneously unload the dishwasher, unstop the toilet, prevent the dog from foraging for food in the pantry and get the kids to soccer practice on time after locating the missing shin guard last seen “maybe in my bedroom … or at school.” Damages sought: upgrading your ingredients and changing your name to French Vanilla Plus 100- Proof Vodka Café. Oh—and I get a free lifetime supply.
Sarah Pekkanen’s debut novel, The Opposite of Me, is scheduled for release by Atria Books in March. She can be reached at sarah.pekkanen@moco360.media.
