I signed up a while back for some free product samples from Dove. Now, much to my delight, they send me free samples of new shampoos, conditioners, soaps, moiturisers, whatever, every time they come out with a new formula. Free stuff is always good with me. They usually send out the pamphlets and booklets that go with their current advertising campaign: Campaign for Real Beauty. You know the one: teach our little girls they are beautiful for who they are, women are beautiful, regardless of size, shape, skin colour, etc.
Last month, one of these campaign booklets came with a set of fridge magnets. It was a square of magnets made up of many smaller squares you could pull apart. On each square were “positive” words, with some feminine pronouns. You were supposed to use the little squares to write out something nice about yourself. Having some body issues myself, and with some hesitation, feeling silly, I wandered over to my fridge and stared at this square. I began tearing little squares off. I came up with: My body is real. Okay. There. It’s not a slam against people with plastic surgery; they’re real, too, in their own way. That’s their reality. This is my reality. Time to deal with it. Love it or leave it. I’ll try again. This time I manage to come up with: I am unique. This is true. We all are. Revel in it. It’s all good. Feeling my choices were rather hackneyed, I decided to give it one more shot: We are all beautiful. Okay, that’s it. One more of these and I’ll be writing Hallmark cards. I threw up my hands and left the magnets, cheeks burning. Foolishness.
The magnets themselves became part of the background, the refrigerator door being crowded with other magnets and drawings from friend’s children and business cards and the like. I forgot about them.
I was baking a pie for my FIL tomorrow. As I was waiting for the pot to slowly, so slowly come to a boil, I took a break between stirring and leaned against the opposite countertop. Since I couldn’t go too far, I just stood there, feeling kind of tired. I started looking at some of our fridge magnets.
Oh, ever-lovin’ glurge. Oh, dear mother of Hallmark. Oh sweet, merciful Lifetime Channel!
Carefully arranged beneath my own banal offerings was this:
She inspires me.
I sat back on the countertop with a heavy thud. And, instead of giggling at what I normally would have thought of as a cute little note, if a little insipid… I began to cry.
I think I need my meds adjusted. :smack:
Guess I’ll get to work on that pie. My husband’s.