Paid Advertisements

This blog may be a tad indelicate, today. I'm just telling you. Nothing really raunchy and probably not offensive, but the subject matter could be iffy. That said..........

Do you ever get stuck watching those hour-long paid advertisements on television? There's one that comes on after "The View". It covers different products each day, and I'll never understand how they can find enough to say about them to stretch to an hour. But, I digress.

I usually read while I watch TV, so some days, it takes me a few minutes to pull myself together and realize what I'm tuned into, so it isn't readily apparent to me what is being shown. Do you ever have moments like that? Anyhoo, that is what happened to me this morning.

There were two nerdy looking men sitting in what looked like a den, and it finally dawned on me that they were discussing a product that would clean your insides. And, I don't mean Roto-Rooter. They were apparently in agreement about the need for periodic "cleansing."

As they warmed to their subject, one of the men started enumerating all of the physical signs that will alert you to the fact that you need to be cleansed. All of the signs had to do with , ahem, "elimination". He described in graphic detail the various types, textures, and colors of poop, all of which should set off your internal alarm, and get you out of your recliner and over to Wally World to buy up some of their fantastic product that will set everying to rights in, say, ten days to two weeks.

I finally regained full consciousness and realized what I was watching, and quickly grabbed the remote and switched to CNN.

In retrospect, they might have believed what they were saying because they might have had a mother like mine. I remember that when we were children, my mother and all of my friends' mothers were inordinately preoccupied with our (whisper) bowel movements, or as they said, delicately, b.m.s They were constantly asking us if we had had one that day.

And, I didn't dare whine about feeling bad with a tummy ache or let her find out that I had fever. She'd snap into action, declaring, "Well, all you need is a good cleaning out!" And, in a few minutes, she come to my room with a large, economy sized bottle of Milk of Magnesia in one hand, and a great big spoon in the other. If I resisted her efforts, she would say, "We don't want you to have an impaction, do we?" It didn't know what that was, but it didn't sound like anything good. So, down went the Milk of Mag - two spoonfuls. The stuff tasted awful, but it always did the trick.

Nowadays, it amuses me that with all the medications on the market to cure whatever ails us, before we spend all that money on prescription drugs, why don't we first try a dose of Milk Of Magnesia, or, better yet, a nice, nourishing enema?