A woman in a TV commercial claims that she applied cream to her face before going to bed, woke up and the outcome was astounding; she looked like she’d had a face lift. I don’t know who would want to look like they had a face lift, but she was right. She didn’t look a day over 25. Oh, wait — she was 25.
And how about those Victoria§s Secret TV underwear commercials, generally not shown until after 9:00 pm? Who are they kidding? We know what they’re really selling, and it’s not underwear. Sure I’m envious of the bodies those women are flaunting but I’m curious to know the difference between those ads and soft porn. I’m also interested in knowing what children who stay up past 9:00 think of them.
I had a nice figure once, for about six minutes. Back then most women wore girdles. Other than childbirth, pulling on a girdle was the most painful experience of my entire life. I would lie on my bed, on my back, legs raised and extended toward the ceiling, sweating, squirming and struggling to pull that damn girdle down my legs and over my hips. I wonder now why I even wore a girdle. I had a 23 inch waist, wore a size 9, but thought I was fat.
Recently, I was again intimidated into buying a panty girdle. The sales woman said it would take inches off my waist and hips. She was right. It did. But the fat had to go somewhere and I ended up with thighs the size of torpedoes and an extra set of breasts.
In an interview Kate Winslet, star of Titanic, said, “Aging is about wisdom and grace.” She’s 30 years old. What can she possibly know about aging? When I was 30 my wisdom evolved from the pages of Doctor Seuss, Doctor Spock and books with catchy phrases like “See Spot run.” My outlook on the world covered places I passed en-route to Cub Scouts, Sunday School and Soccer practice. I didn’t even begin to approach wisdom until this year, when I realized my grandchildren understand computers and can say and spell the names of every dinosaur that ever existed, while I can’t do either.
I can’t stand those distracting blips that pop up on my TV screen while I’m watching a show, to advertise coming attractions of other shows. Whatever happened to good old non-intrusive, illegal, subliminal advertising? I don’t mind being distracted and brainwashed if I’m not aware of it.
I used to love going to the movies, but not since commercials have been added to the lineup. It’s bad enough sitting through 15 minutes of loud previews, but now movie goers are held captive and forced to watch commercials they’d ordinarily avoid if they were home surfing channels or taking a bathroom break.
Every year, right before Valentine’s Day, I hear advertisements encouraging men to make the woman in their life ecstatically happy by having a star named for her. The ad suggests that for a mere $54 the recipient of this thoughtful gift will be overcome with love, every time she searches the galaxy for her shimmering namesake.
Call me cynical, but paying good money for a star you’ll probably never see makes about as much sense as building your dream house on the San Andreas Fault. I suspect that women will be more apt to elicit the kind of response men appreciate if they’re given something that sparkles on their finger rather than in the sky.
Hey, but that’s just me.
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