the fuzz

Dear Ralph,

Ralph Rueben Lifshitz, I have a bone to pick with you! And just because you changed your last name to Lauren and made 3 billion dollars selling suits, don’t think you’re too big to listen to me. You can run but you cannot hide from the wrath of a woman covered in Chili Pepper Red fuzz. The problem is, Ralph, ever since last month when I finally broke down and bought new towels for my bathroom, my body ( as well as that of my dearly beloved) has been coated each and every single morning with a layer of luxurious Egyptian cotton fuzz from your Ralph Lauren Bath Collection. I cannot express to you the full extent of my disappointment at this, but that won’t stop me from trying.

First off, I’d just like to say that some of us women out here in the real live world use our towels for a long time. We use them until it’s hard to tell what color they started out and they get all thin in the middle. We use them even when we leave the house with the bathroom wallpaper we bought them to match. And when they don’t match the wallpaper in the next house do replace them? No, we hang on to them a little longer. Because sometimes, Ralph, we’re too busy paying bills, fixing things that are broke, and handing out money to teenage daughters to fret over things like new towels and washcloths. But when we finally get our kids mostly paid for, and our house looking spiffy after a ten year’s wait, we want us some nice, beautiful towels to hang in our redone bathroom. Towels with a thick, soft nap that stays attached to the towel instead of falling off all over the shower stall, the bathroom floor, or the person using them. Ralph, I’ve removed your red fuzz from my eyelashes, my ears, my nose, and places I will not mention in this letter. It’s on the bathroom floor, in the bedroom carpet, on the stairs, and in the cracks of the sofa. We find it in our sheets, our drawers (both kinds) and the toes of our socks. When I use my facial products, my cotton ball turns pink from the tiny fuzz particles your towels leave on my face. I can feel the lint rolling into little balls on my shoulders and legs when I apply my body lotion. This just isn’t right, Ralph. No girl should have to use a pet hair roller on herself as part of her morning toilette.

In an effort to stem this crimson tide of fuzz, I have washed and dried your products numerous times. And although I could make a small red lamb from the fluff left in my dryer, they just keep producing more. At least, one would think, with all that pile and billowy cotton plushness, those little puppies would dry like crazy. But Ralph, they don’t dry. Not one bitty bit. It doesn’t matter if I rub, pat, wipe or blot, I always remain moist. Moist and fuzzy. It’s enough to make a girl want to sit down on the edge of the bathtub and cry. Which I almost did, until my teary eyes were drawn to all the red towel debris wedged up under the baseboards. Then I got mad again.

Ralph, have you or anyone you know used one of your towels? ‘Cause I think if you put your name on a product and expect folks to spend their hard earned money on it, you ought to personally make sure it’s worth every penny they plunk down. So just to let you know, I’m going to publish this letter so no dreamy-eyed housewife clutching her birthday money in her eager little hand will have to endure what I have endured. And one more thing- if I ever want to wear a Ralph stinkin’ Lauren sweater, I will bypass the clothing department and head for bath accessories instead. The towels come in a variety of colors- I’ll just add water and be wearing one in no time!

Signed,

Seeing Red