In my stocking today (yes, I have a stocking; I married a shiksa), I got a handful of Dove Promises.

These are little chocolates wrapped in foil with messages on the inside. Here's what I was advised this evening, while eating all of them at once:

• Be mischievous. It feels good.
  
• Make your eyes twinkle.
  
• There's time for compromise. It's called "later."
  
• Wink at someone driving past today.
  
• Do what feels right.

I said to Kathleen (we're reading in bed, and I'm eating my loot), Make your eyes twinkle.

A few seconds later I said, It doesn't say "Develop an uncontrollable facial tic."

Hold on. I have two left. Gimme a minute...

• Smile before bed. You'll sleep better.
  
• You know what? You look good in red.

Dove's target audience is obvious. Suffice it to say, I am not it. If I were (me, Keith Snyder, not just the set consisting of all non-teenaged non-female non-morons), the little foil wrappers would say things like:

• Shave. It stopped being cute when you hit 30.
  
• You know what? You look drunk in red.
  
• Shouldn't you be writing?
  
• Sometimes you can really be a prick.
  
• I thought you said you were cutting out carbs.

I googled "dove chocolates stupid," and found this blog, but very little else.

Doesn't anyone see?

Doesn't anyone care?

How can something this utterly asinine and completely unimportant have escaped notice on the Internet?

I mean... the Internet!

I'll still eat 'em. But that doesn't mean I respect 'em.