Of course, it doesn't matter. I originally thought I'd search out the statistics of who buys Victoria's Secret, who are they marketing to? I couldn't find it within a couple Google pages, but I did run across this article from Business Week about their brand marketing manager. He manages to fill the article with lots of marketing talk, but I couldn't get past this one sentence: "I cannot imagine a better position coming out of business school. And let's be honest, working in an office filled with pictures of supermodels definitely has its benefits."
I'd be interested to know if he is a) married, and b) has daughters.
In the meantime, I will tell you my favorite part of watching these commercials is when my husband does the models voices. It's hysterical. I married the right man. He's sexy and funny and loves my body as much (and at times, more) than I do.
Every spring, we are amazed at the vibrant color and delicacy of our dogwood in the front yard. Our yard is small, but someone had the foresight to plant a pretty tree in front. We have a little octagonal window in our living room that fills with pink every year at this time.
I can't help it. Every year, I have to take a picture of it. Document it. Because when it blooms in all it's bright pink glory, it's such a gift. We endure months of grey skies and damp cold, and this is Nature's way of showing us that the skies will clear eventually and it's almost time to take off our sweaters.
Sixteen years ago, a couple in their early thirties pledged to love each other in front of a few dear, amazing friends and family in a modest back yard in Carpinteria, CA. The groom wore a seafoam green suit with a multi-colored tie, the bride wore an ivory silk tea dress that had layers that fluttered in the ocean breezes. The cake was late (and frozen), biplanes flew overhead during the groom's vows, drowning him out and causing the guests to laugh. The bride, a notorious sap, who cried at commercials (and still does on occasion) was uncharacteristically dry eyed, sober as she was, clear as she was that this was the biggest, most important decision she had ever made. To say yes to the complexity of marriage to this man. When the ceremony was over, they danced to this song.
And you're standing here beside me. I love the passage of time.
Well, I've decided that we need to sex up some basic rules for living in civilized society, things that just make sense but we never really think about. Also to catch the attention of the younger generation.
When you wait on me, and don't talk on your cell phone, my panties get damp.
Politeness is HOT. Giving up your seat or place in line to an elderly, infirm or pregnant person? You can eat whipcream off my chest. (or straight out of the can if that doesn't do it for you).
If you are driving in front of me, or are stopped at a light in a car facing mine, I will TONGUE KISS YOU if you use your turn signal.
Being on time, good service, doing your job without an attitude make me MOIST.
Hey waiter, slow down with those menu specials.... yeah, that's it, baby. make it last.
Paying taxes hurts? Ohhhhh, bend me over and hurt me again! Roads, schools, hospitals, police.....
If you are trying to get through the express lane with more than the allotted amount of items, I will give you a lap dance if you get the hell out of my way.
Hey there, bearded skateboarder, you'd look SO MUCH HOTTER in a helmet on the sidewalk than plastered to the front of my car!
These are just a few ideas.... please feel free to add your own, and let's get this party started!
The rain beats the roof announcing another wet day. What's new? I sit lotus in the big chair making my lists when my growing boy in soft plaid pajamas tiptoes out, eyes half-closed, and folds himself like an origami baby into my lap. How is it possible? Standing, I can rest my chin on his mop of curly brown hair. While I ponder the engineering marvel of the human body to fold, transformer-like, into the toddler he once was (a minute ago?!), he rests his soft cheek against mine, a gangly arm around my neck. This moment ("you're soaking in it!") is broken when he pulls back, gazing up at me with his huge brown eyes and croaks in his sleepy voice, "You smell like tuna."