Dear Mr. Garnier

I am a man of small dreams. Nothing too big, nothing too fancy. A cabin in the woods. A day spent laying on the beach. And for a too-short instant, when I learned about your Maple Remedy shampoo, you, sir, gave me a new beautiful dream, only to cruelly snatch it away.

When I first heard about your Maple Remedy shampoo, I was transported to a land where a man could stand tall in his shower, frothing his hair, while the smell of pancakes would well up around him, transforming a shower from a daily cleansing ritual into a warm and comforting world of delicious breakfast sensory overload. Where a lady's daily Remedy regimen would instead be converted, nay, elevated, to a warm and cozy cabin in the northern Vermont woods, swaddled in blankets and the aromas of a lazy morning, while the snow fell all around.

Needless to say, I went to target . com immediately and ordered it.

And while I waited for the two-day shipping to elapse, oh how I dreamed. I dreamed of butter conditioner, of fried-chicken soap, of waffle body wash. What an amazing brunchland, an escape from the soul-crushing day-to-day, a shower could become. Oh, how I dreamed, and how I cursed my decision to not spring for the overnight shipping!

And then the magical day came! My wife texted me "what the hell did you order from target.com, you never shop there!" And I knew, oh how I knew, that my dreams were about to become a reality. I came home from work, removed the 17 layers of packaging, opened the top and breathed in deep—

Mr. Garnier, I have no idea what kind of bullshit bait-and-switch find-the-lady shell game garbage you're trying to pull on me, but in that instant when I should have been elevated to a land of syrup waterfalls, waffle outcrops, and candied peaches that grow on trees I was instead curbstomped with disappointment. You were the linchpin of this breakfast dream, Mr. Garnier, and you instead produced something that smelled like perfumed hippies. What is that smell even? Sandalwood? Patchouli and dollar-store plastic-flower-in-the-bottle-probably-deemed-by-California-to-be-carcinogenic-perfume that if you were in an elevator with someone who was wearing it you know your body would immediately trigger such a histamine response it would be akin to a beesting? Goddamn castor oil? You put something traditionally used to punish back talking children into my beautiful breakfast dream?

Mr. Garnier, I mean to say, I have had enough of your regime of lies. You're on notice, Mr. Garnier. One day, I, and probably 5-7 likeminded people, will stand before you, our fists raised in the air, and say: no more. Your maple lies will not stand. Look into yourself, sir, and see if this is truly who you want to be. Do you want to be a castor-snake-oil salesman, or an honest, upstanding shampoo champion? Do you truly look inside yourself and say, yes, I want to crush the dreams of the world?

Look inside yourself, Mr. Garnier. When you come to the right decision, we will be here to welcome you.

Sincerely,

Alex Parise

[Originally Published 3/31/2018]