Blame the Ad Man.

The above ad is for Lysol® disinfectant, circa 1948. Go ahead. Click on it. Read it. And if you're a man, be prepared to think deeply. This might sting.

You know, back in the day, we (guys) had it pretty good. We had our meals made for us, houses clean & sparkly, we positively owned anything mechanical (i.e. the cars)...heck, we even smoked pipes in the living room.

Then, the Women's Movement came along. We had to cook. We had to clean. She learned to drive... and Borkum Riff began ruining her drapes.

And today? Why, just last week, I painted my youngest's nails and did I draw a little smiley face on her pinky? You bet I did. Did I erase it and start over when she started to cry (because it looked icky!)? You bet I did. Eventually, I got it right, too. Sigh.

How did Man-ness lose all that we had so naturally reigned o'er?

I blame the Bubba who wrote this ad. He's the one. The finger on the Tipping Point that sent all of Male Domination cowering in "Yes, dear!"

You know, Advertising People need to be certified. Licensed. And stupid ideas? They should be a crime. You KNOW that a smoky board room of gut-busting buddies thunk up the idea of injecting caustic chemicals into a birth canal as a way to "increase business around here!"

Boneheads.

If I had a time machine, I'd go back...but I can't.

Instead, I'll just wait out the day when our Female Overlords inevitably get fat, lazy and overconfident... let's hope some adWOMAN doesn't decide that a hot wax depilatory will cure jock itch.

Postscript: Check out the line, "...restore everyone woman's confidence in her power to please." Geez. I feel like I just read a charming Children's Story written by Hitler.

Note: A Sadvertising reader estimated the proper dilution of Lysol to be about 1 Tablespoon per 55 gallon drum. If he's right, a bottle of Lysol given at graduation should last right up until menopause. Give or take.

The ad above arrived in today's paper.

People have been marveling at baby's butts for years. Personally, every experience I've ever had with the things have been awful, but that's just because I'm one of those post-modern, dutiful dads who believe in sharing the load as a parent.

Now, I "get" the idea that once clean, disinfected and dried, their little bums are smooth. "Awww. Aren't they so CUUUTE!?!?"

But that's not the point of this post. Pay note to the headline: "Clinically proven to give you skin that rivals your baby's bottom."

Clinically PROVEN. As in, data. Scientific-like. White lab coats. Clipboards. Baby butts. People making notes. And a pointy-faced scientist with one glove on a lil'patootie and the other on some woman's cheek, shouting to his assistants, "MORE TESTS! WE NEED PROOF!"

And while we're flushing the poor copywriter's work down the toilet, what does "...rival..." mean?

"Honey?"

"Yeah?"

"You know when I kissed your cheek this morning?"

"Yeah?"

"It rivaled a...BUTT!" (suppressed laughter, erupting into knee-slapping guffaws).

I tell ya, once they were potty trained, the days around our house went a little smoother.