Almost as much as I love vacations, I hate jet lag. It’s approaching lunch time in Paris, but it’s 3:00 AM in my bedroom, I’m wide awake and my satellite dish is failing me miserably.
Flawless Face … Awesome Abs … Brazilian Butt …
As a business owner, I understand the importance of marketing – of selling the sizzle, so to speak. But does it really matter how enticing the wrapper if there’s no product within? When you leave the Louis Vuitton store on the Champs Elysees with your shopping bag in tow, you know that its contents will serve you – and turn your friends a bright pickle green – for years to come. Imagine your disappointment should you get home and discover you have nothing but tissue paper. Wait, I’ll make it even easier (so you men can understand). When you hand the dealer a check and take the keys to that new BMW, you expect there to be the ultimate driving machine within that beautiful body, do you not?
Why then do we so lower our standards when it comes to choosing a life partner?
Across the crowded dance floor, your eyes meet. Her Hairlights glisten in the reflection of the stars in your eyes and her Miracle Mineral Skin creates a stirring in your– uh, heart. As you scan her body, your fingers tingle in anticipation of what lies beneath her Best Bra Ever. So you buy her a drink and she takes you home. That the foundation of your relationship has less strength than half-beaten meringue is irrelevant. That your conversation outside the bedroom consists of little more than breathless nothings has no importance. That she has the character of the snake with the apple is invisible to you. When she wraps her Gorgeous Sexy Legs around your Bowflex Body, you are in heaven. That’s all that matters. And you know it will always (or at least for Pfizer’s forseeable future) be that way.
So, the two of you jump the broom. Or tie the knot. Or whatever it is you do.
A couple of years – perhaps merely months – pass and life drizzles on your sparklers. You have little in common, conversation is practically nonexistent and the thrill is long gone. All that’s left is that foundation of friendship you laid before you laid her. What? You didn’t? Oh. Now the two of you are rapidly and very unhappily crawling down the road to the Dr Phil Show. And one — or both — of you pulls out the matches and ignites new fireworks with someone other than that old ball and chain.
And you become contributors to marriage’s 50% failure rate.
Perhaps a better plan is to develop the product first so there’s actually a lily to gild? Hmmm…what a novel concept! I‘d actually like to see the following as late night infomercials:
24K Character … Fabulous Friendship … Incredible Intellect …
I know; you’re right. Ain’t gonna happen.
Oh well, back to my boob tube:
Best Vacuum Ever! … Bake, Broil, BBQ … Best Dog Training Secrets …
Good Lord! Anybody got an Ambien?