Foiled Again

I don't plan to do these things. Really I don't.

In all innocence I wrote to Pixie Mate to ask about brewing techniques. The National Sales Manager and I struck up an e-mail dialogue, wherein I said intelligent things like, "What's the word for the lingering taste at the end?" and he wrote, "I think the word you're looking for is 'finish.'"

But I couldn't stop there. I suggested that if I enjoy the free samples he's sending me, and if I win my upcoming bench press competition, perhaps I could help market the tea. You know, "High in Antioxidants, Good for the Triceps," I said. Yes I did.

He wrote that they'd already thought of the muscle theme, and sent me this image:



The good news is I stopped just short of offering to tattoo their logo on my biceps, a gesture I made last year at this time to Charlie's Soap. See, I had contacted them about their products, too, and, well, there was a competition upcoming then, as well, so... They thought I was joking. I'm not sure why.

Now that I think of it, I've been doing this sort of thing for some time. While other children called each other for playdates, I called Procter & Gamble. Toll-free numbers fascinated me. The phone held endless mystery. Put the two together and you get a ten-year-old girl discussing, with a slightly bemused telephone operator, the merits of Pert Plus.

All that aside, I think I would be an excellent candidate for corporate sponsorship. I won't hit on cocktail waitresses, and there are no golf clubs around for Greg to smash in our car windows. Above all, I'd look great in a T-shirt from [your company's name here]. Applications being taken starting...now.