An Open Letter to the Fair Trade Marketing People

Dear Fair Trade Marketers:

I understand your interest in  marketing products as Fair Trade, and I applaud these types of efforts.  Fair Trade products make me feel better about what I purchase, consume, and enjoy.  When I see the Fair Trade logo, I am more likely to buy it, and even may pay a little more for it. 

This brings me to my lunch at Whole Foods.  I love Whole Foods, which is not only filled with healthful, affluent, organized people but also seems to promise to make me the same.  I enjoyed my salad, my tofu, and my time with friends.  I also thought my iced tea (with a hint of mint) was delightful.

I was not delighted, however, by this picture on my can of iced tea.

This is reality for these people, even under Fair Trade conditions?  The lady looks undernourished, overworked, and (is it possible to look) undereducated.  She looks tired, and burdened, and old before her time.  And I'm pretty sure her 8+ kids aren't in a regulated daycare.

She reminds me of the millions of people all over the world who live this way every day, when they're lucky enough to find work.  Much less find a farm involved in fair trade and become a poster-child-mint -tea-uncompensated-celebrity for third world agriculture.  She reminds me about my good fortune in being born when, where, and to the people I was so I could seek education, purchase big things, and build a careful career.  Instead of, oh, say, pick tea leaves by hand with a basket strapped to my head.   

Thanks for the Whole Foods buzzkill, Mr. & Ms. Marketer.

Sincerely,
Katie

Not Cool

Dressing Beep the other day, I grabbed her pink boots from where they were hanging in the closet organizer.  I peeked inside them, as I always do with our shoes, to make sure there are no bugs (read: scorpions) inside.

In this case, I saw something dark and rumpled in her boot.  What's a sock doing still inside there? I wondered as I reached my hand inside.

It. Was. Not. A. Sock.

Luckily, it was also not alive.

There was no shrieking, hysterics, or cussing.  There was an inquiry made to Cabbage to be sure he wasn't playing a sick joke on me.  He wasn't.

There was much hand-washing, plus a few threats to move northward, where toads do not infest the boots of darling babies and their unsuspecting mothers.

And those boots, by the way, were verging on too-small, and have now been suddenly retired.  And shall evermore be known as the toadboots.

Things Heard in Our House Tonight

Oh, I'd like to eat about ten pounds of lobster right now.

How do you like how I single handedly crashed the housing market today?

Please don't eat that dog poop.

Don't they know if you say literally, it means it's actually going to happen?  Response: Then watch, cuz he's about to blow up.

Oh, you uptight sonuvab*tch, go write another article. [Directed at the tv]

I wish I had a Bloomin Onion.

Is that the guy with the pegleg? [ok, not really.  I just thought it fit in]

I love you, Baby. Ni-night.