“We are so excited to let you know that today is the day …” sucked me in. A poster child for “easily distracted,” I am easy prey for publicists on fishing expeditions.
My keyboard began to pulsate, the keys rising and falling in anticipation.
“Yoomi Bottle Hits Shelves Today in U.S.”
I read on. “Yoomi Bottle is a feeding system that warms expressed breast milk …” Well, there’s good news! For some women, perhaps. For this grandmother, the news is decades late. I lost interest in babies, breast milk, pumps and self-warming mammary-produced nourishment when Tricky (“I am not a crook”) Dick was in the White House.
Gagging on the breast-pump hype, I spit up. And, still smarting from my annual mammogram a month ago, I declined the offer for images. It pains me to even think about it.
I considered ignoring the messenger (or shooting her). Instead, I replied.
Dear Publicist Trying to Make Your Quota:
I haven’t breastfed recently. My son is 40, my daughter 42. Fortunately, they outgrew their fondness for it well before college.
Believe me, I wish I could produce milk. I’d be on the cover of the Guinness Book of Records, have money in the bank, and star in my own (un)reality show.
Please don’t send me messages pertaining to: breast milk (warm, cold or room temperature), infantile seborrheoic eczema, educational nursery décor, inoculation schedules, projectile vomiting, holistic cures for prickly heat, stuffed animals, nasal aspirators, poopy diapers, toys with moving parts, pediatricians, infant carriers, children’s photographers, colic, lead paint, traveling with kids, ear infections, Ralph Lauren onesies for 3-month-olds, teething, and undescended testicles.
I want no further communiqués from your company, unless your clients sell: adult diapers, gas busters, energy elevaters, memory enhancers, varicose vein concealer, facial hair remover, cellulite zappers, mood menders, discount vodka, or all-expenses-paid trips to Maui.