I Won't Be Writing for Dove...

I Won't Be Writing for Dove...

Even amid the raging CIRCUS, I’ve never felt the desire to sink into anything “sweet” to escape or cope—sweet in the sense of heartstrings and “awww,” that is.

Reese’s cups are another thing entirely. That sweet is permissible.

Romance? Nope.

Hallmark movie channel? Nope.

Kittens and puppies? As much as I'm a fan of critters (minus chickens, of course...), if I’m feeling “escape-ish,” I’d rather watch something with a bit more grit.

The sweetest I go to “get away” is Bob Ross, and, let’s face it, the tisking of his brush and the scraping of the knife against the pallet puts me into a nice coma-nap pretty quickly. Which is the point of escape. I mean, if you’re gonna do it, do it with a coma on the couch.

Sweet doesn’t cut it because it all seems too “put on” and “in your face.” I don’t know... Color me different. I believe we’re all a little—or a lot—screwed up somehow, and we may as well tell it like it is, not wrap it in niceties or platitudes.

While sitting in the surgical waiting room while Mom had her eyeballs shined up, I realized I don’t appreciate sweet sentiments wrapped around my coping chocolates, either.

If I’m gonna “sink” into a chocolatey bliss wrapped in wisdom, I want to bond with the author. I want to know I’m not alone in my need to cope. I want to feel the snark spark from the wrapper as I undo my treat. Let’s call things like they are.

Sometimes life is sideways, inside out, and upside down—and Awww just grates the nerves.

Dove chocolates—great chocolate, mind you, not a Reese’s, but still—has excellent branding. Wrapping their sweets with sweet wishes. Awww…

It markets well to the masses, which is the point.

“You’re not in any mass I’ve ever seen. But then again, you have me.” Little Miss Muse, also not a sweet entity despite her constant consumption of grape soda, has a point. Most folks we know don’t have conversations with beings such as her. Or concrete lawn ornaments turned office assistants, but hey…

It had been a while since I’d had a Dove. The company must’ve sent out a campaign to allow folks to write sentiments, and Dove credits them with their first name, last initial, and general locale.

A cool aside: One of the wrappers said, “Be uniquely you,” and was written by—get this—Bethany P. in New York. Wouldn’t it be cool if her last name was Paul? This saying isn’t overly sweet… I mean, being unique could mean being as twisted as an M. Night Shyamalan movie or a King novel if you want it to be. I saved the wrapper. It’s tucked between my phone and the case. If someone gets snarky with me, I’ll whip that baby out like Bethany P. from New York gave me a personal permission slip to be out of the classroom of adult life to goof off in the hallway.

Anyway, given my glitching thyroid, general tiredness, and my aching back from the waiting room chairs, I’d developed an attitude problem over the whole sweet thing. I started to, uh, “edit” the sentiments. To keep from possible copyright infringement, I’ll paraphrase.

You’re always a beautiful human. Dove, I’m not too purdy right now. I’m all waiting-room and woke-up-too-early grimy. But we’d connect on soul-deep level—and I’d buy a giant bag of your Dove Dark Chocolate Promises—if it’d said You haven’t showered, have you?

Hands are for holding becomes Wash your hands and keep them to yourself.

Tomorrow is full of hope becomes Tomorrow could be worse. Eat the chocolate now.

Other “promises” that will never make Dove’s Sweet Sentiments campaign now or in the future:

No one cares; eat the whole bag.
Coping chocolate calories don’t count.
But it can count as dinner.
Ward off the hangry.
You probably need a nap.
You’re the hottest of all the messes.
Calm all the way down.
No, seriously, chill out.
Overthink it then have another.
We know you can’t even right now.

Short and not-so-sweet-but-plenty-of-dripping-attitude this week as my brain is exhausted and I’m behind on a dozen deadlines.

So, go grab a bag of Dove sweets, accept the Awww, or break from the masses and rewrite those sentiments to fit your current reality.

Better yet—go for the Reese’s and enjoy your chocolate in peace and quiet before succumbing to your couch coma. Oh, wait. That’s me. That’s my advice for myself... never mind.

(And thanks, Bethany P. from New York, for the encouragement to be uniquely me.)

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