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Mariann's musingsposted on 19 July 2011
THE GIRL WITH THE RED FEATHER EARRINGS WRITES... I am a product advertisers dream. When I see an advert for a new shampoo, it's written immediately on my shopping list. If they promise me that my hair will shine with the gloss of a nail varnish, or that all the mess and germs in my kitchen will be eradicated for the next millennium by using their product, I have to have it. I pick up each bottle in the supermarket and I read the blurb on the back. Yes, I actually read all the hype. My hair will be magnificent, after just ONE wash and conditioning treatment of this product. I put the kitchen cleaner into my basket, believing naively that this product will be the one to prove the other twenty five bottles wrong. My kitchen will be clean. But the worst of all this false hope is the trust I place in washing powder. I don't think my family is any dirtier than any other family. I have no young children to speak of. Four adults in one house make up a reasonable amount of laundry I confess, but as to the amount of dirt, I wouldn't say it should be beyond any washing liquid or powder. And yet it is. There is a certain pre-wash liquid, a colourful bottle that has a lady ready to bounce out from under your sink. She seems to appear at the first shout of "oh dear, muddy football kits." She has promised me many things. I should have brilliant white tee-shirts, football kits (including socks!) gleaming white shirts and absolutely nothing with a food stain on. I enjoyed a particularly messy lasagne the other evening and the inevitable happened. Not to worry I thought. Definitely a job for that bottle under the sink. Step one. Get changed. (Do not try to dab this on while wearing it, it smells slightly chemical!) Step two. Pour a good dollop of said liquid into a bowl and add water. Leave for ten minutes or however long it takes you to finish your cup of coffee. Step three. Wash as normal. Step four. Wonder if you could still wear the top underneath a jumper? False promises. Isn't there enough pressure in the world, than having to catch every mouthful of lasagne, just because you're an adult and your clothes stain? Carolyn Young
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