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There’s
One Born Every Minute
by Elizabeth Bussey Sowdal |
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I
never, ever order anything that I see on T.V. Because I am an intelligent and
canny consumer? No. Because I have high standards and want to examine anything
on which I am going to spend my hard-earned money? No. Because I am distrustful
of the miraculous claims of instant and painless weight-loss, non-surgical facelifts,
the promise of having a body like a twenty year old tennis player or the concentration
of Einstein or the placid calm of Mother Theresa with one pill twice a day? Nu-uh.
Because I am a grown-up American woman and I know that if it sounds too good to
be true then it will inevitably be too good to be true? No, no, no, not me, no
way. I don’t order anything that I see advertised on T.V. ever, no matter how
wonderful it seems to be or for what a limited time it will be offered, because
I know me and I know that if I ever break this rule and order one thing, one single
item, the dam will be broken and I will have to order everything. There will be
no end to it until we are completely destitute and have second mortgages on all
the children and are trying to hire the cats out as by-the-hour pets. I know this
about myself and I accept this weakness.
I limit my television hours
like I am my own mother. I have to. Say, I have just completed some task and need
to start another. I might think to myself, "Well, I will just sit down and have
a glass of tea before I start. Regroup. Muster my forces." So, I get the tea and
sit down. While my mind is collating chores and deciding on a course of action
my hand will, of it’s own volition, slip down under the sofa cushions where we
keep our remote control. Without realizing it I will start flipping through the
channels, just killing time while I sip my tea. Not planning to watch anything.
Next thing I know I will be digging around in the towels on the floor in the boys’
room, where we keep the telephone, in a panic to call and order a 7 carat emerald
cut genuine faux crystal-like completely manufactured using the very latest advances
in modern technology dinner ring WITH a fully adjustable band because there
are only seven left in the known Universe and THEY ARE GOING FAST!
Why do I need a dinner ring? We are a rather formal family with quite a strict
tradition of dressing for dinner. Nobody in this house ever comes to the table
more than 66% naked. I want my children to be prepared to function in society
and to be able to hold their heads up no matter what circumstances they may find
themselves in during the course of their lives. So I am strict about the 66% cut-off.
But just because I insist on everyone wearing britches to the table doesn’t mean
I need a dinner ring. Or ever will. Especially not this one. Yuck. It’s just the
spokesmen. I think they use some kind of weird salesperson hypnotism or maybe
there are subliminal messages corroding my will power. I don’t know. It cannot
be that I am weak-willed and gullible. Surely not.
My other area of danger
while watching T.V. is exercise equipment. We don’t need any. We have plenty of
closet space for hanging clothes and enough spots to stack junk mail without spending
thousands and thousands of dollars on an exercise machine. Even at only $20.00
a month in perpetuity. But that one commercial they’re airing recently is really
getting to me. The one with the woman who says she is fifty years old. You know
the one in the bikini with the long, luxurious brunette hair. The one who claims
to be a grandmother but looks like the only thing she ever gave birth to was a
new fashion trend. The one who has muscles showing in her belly that I didn’t
even realize human beings had. I thought when I first saw her that they might
be implants and voiced this opinion. And was told by my friend that I was negative
and jealous and unkind. Negative? Harumph! I am positive that either those are
implants or that she is one of those robots they have at Disney World. And I am
not jealous. I wouldn’t want to look like that. You start looking like that and
next thing you know everybody’s wanting to take your picture and movie stars are
falling in love with you left and right. What a hassle! Only twenty minutes a
day, huh? Where’s the phone?
© Elizabeth Bussey Sowdal
"The
Girl Detective's Theory of Everything"
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