Who out there remembers this commercial?
Last week, I had this playing in my head over and over because the day went like this:
- Got out of bed and started a load of laundry
- Cleaned up emails
- Tried to set up workshop for writer’s group (involving multiple emails)
- Edited for a client (2 hours)
- Finished laundry
- Steam mopped downstairs floor
- Cleaned entire (sans bathroom) second floor
- Worked out
- Took care of dog
- Made dinner
- Did dishes (the hubs did help with this one)
- Collapsed on couch
And then I thought about writing this post, but I was too dead tired to do so. So I’m writing it now (a day later). When I looked up the commercial, I remembered that it had been for perfume. I doubt I smelled as nice by the end of yesterday as this woman did. After all, I had biked to my personal training appointment (in 90 degree weather), worked out – hard, and then biked back (in 90 degree weather). When I returned home I went right into making dinner and starting dishes. No shower. No cleanup. No nothing. I did not smell as nice as this lady for sure.
I also didn’t give the hubs much “lovin'” that day. We were both pooped and it wasn’t happening. Maybe if I had some of this Enjoli (Was Angelina Jolie around then? It sounds like a mashup of her name…) I would have been better prepared to continue all my wifely duties.
Although I did bring home some bacon (and by that I mean money – not actual bacon. Although I have bacon in the freezer…) and did fry some things up in a pan (again, not bacon), I was in no mood to do anything else. I literally couldn’t even make conversation with my husband (in fact, he barely got a kiss) – there was no way anything more would have been happening.
So maybe I’m not a woman since I can’t accomplish everything this Enjoli woman does. Maybe I need this perfume. And that dress. And her hair. (Although it is pretty 80’s style going on there…) Or maybe, just maybe this commercial is full of it.
We can’t do it all. Women or men. It’s just not possible. But guess what? That’s why God gave me a help mate! He helps me (with the dishes and the bathroom cleaning) and I help him (food, I think is the primary help…) and God helps us both. My energy level and stamina are no mystery that comes out of a bottle of cheap smelling perfume (I assume… maybe it smells great. Do they even still make this perfume?) – these things come from God.
I am a woman. A child of God. A servant of the master. And I’ll keep frying it up in the pan until He tells me otherwise. (Again… not bacon.)