From the Slow Lane: Onion cutter or maybe chocolate diamonds?
You can tell we’re into the gift-giving season because of the commercials. Some spectacular gift items from Christmases past are getting hyped again, items such as the machine that transforms a plain, old everyday onion into a beautiful, golden, onion blossom. (Actually, the machine just slices the onion, the operator has to dip it in a batter and then deep-fry it, then clean up the oil and batter splatter.)
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” viewers are told, “now your special ‘someone’ will be able to create spectacular batter-dipped onion blossoms just like the ones served in the world’s finest restaurants.” In other words, instead of having to trudge to the world’s finest restaurants, she gets to stay right there in her own kitchen.
I think I speak on behalf of a lot of “someones” out there when I say, “Oh, goody!”
It’s easy to understand why a gentleman might think that the onion cutter is the perfect gift because even though it’s demonstrated by a man, standing close beside him is a woman who’s so delighted, she jumps up and down and claps her hands like a kid on Christmas morning.
I hate to come off like a cynic but that woman is faking. And while we’re on the subject of faking, so is the gal who nearly passes out with excitement over the handy-dandy machine that sucks the air out of a glass jar filled with marshmallows. (The air-sucking machine is for storing leftovers, you know, just like they do in the world’s finest restaurants.)
A word of caution to you gentlemen shoppers: As we get closer to Christmas, more of these gift items are sure to appear on television. Unless your special someone has specifically asked for an onion cutter or a paring knife that slices bricks and/or tomatoes so thin you can see through them or the hose that attaches to the back end of the vacuum and sucks air out of jars of marshmallows, think twice before you make that 1-800 gift purchase or it’s going to be another long, cold winter for you.
In my humble opinion, the worst holiday-hyped gift item was the portable, countertop washing machine. Once again, it was a man who demonstrated the versatility of this appliance while the little woman stood at his elbow and watched in astonishment at the miracle that took place right before her very wide eyes. The portable washer looked like a globe, sat on its own stand and even had an ergonomic hand crank. The man demonstrating this magical wonder machine placed a few shirts, a little water and special-ordered cleaning solvent into the magical washer and turned the crank to rotate it a few times while the woman jumped up and down and gasped, “This is so much fun! And way easier than using my old washing machine.”
I just wanted to say to her: liar, liar, pants on fire! Especially when she winked at the camera and purred, “Fellas, this will make a wonderful Christmas gift for your wives.”
Reality check! The only wife who’d be happy to find a washing machine ball under the tree is the one who stands in a stream and beats her clothes clean with a rock.
There are some nice holiday commercials, though, and some that feature some pretty nice gifts. Like the ones for chocolate diamonds or just plain vanilla diamonds. Those are nice. There’s the one with the car under a big bow, that’s pretty nice, too. And no matter how often I see it, I still get weepy when I watch the commercial with the family that’s just given Dad his gift. “Gee,” he says, “a John Deere hat. Just what I always wanted!” (Men lie, too.)
Then he notices that under the hat are keys to his very own, brand new John Deere lawnmower. He looks up at his special someone and they share a special look. That one makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. But know what probably got left on the cutting room floor? The part where he turns to his special someone and gives her her gift and she opens it. Next scene: the man stands alone in his empty driveway shouting “Honey! Honey!” after his wife who ís riding down the road on his new John Deere. And he ís left standing there, holding the onion-cutter thing.
