I’ve been watching a lot of television lately. I have little to no energy left to renovate or get the house baby-ready at the end of a workday (my new mindset: the baby can sleep on me. Here, throw me that towel.) Between episodes of Ghost Whisperer wherein I cry like my arm is being broken off at the shoulder (I don’t know where this new obsession is coming from- I never used to watch ‘ion: positively entertaining’ tv) and various Laws & various Orders, I’ve been enjoying the heck out of batty commercials for folks who have been “trapped” into debt. Sure, debt is superbly easy to accrue (I’ve, ah, heard) but the best part is the statement in bold across the screen that reiterates what the “paid spokesperson, not an actual lawyer” proclaims: “Over 2k in debt? IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT.” Really? Not even the InStyler hair straightener or the Slanket? (I can’t resist the new skull n’ bones pattern.) I mean, I definitely believe that infomercials hold a certain sway over all of us, but no one’s holding an UltraSmooth to your head to fork over your AmEx. I feel better, however, knowing that I am not to blame. If there’s anything I hate more than debt, it’s personal responsibility. (And frizzy hair, cold appendages and stubble.)
On a similar note, what would really happen if I followed the advice of some of those ads that implore you to “Tell ’em ___ sent ya!” If I walked into a pharmacy and proclaimed that Wilford Brimley should’ve called ahead for me, do you think that would fly?
“Oh, how is he?”
“…Fine.”
And while we’re on the topic of blatant consumerism, what the heck is Target’s problem? I went in seeking nursing bras (sorry) and asked a lady in the section clearly labeled ‘Maternity.” You would have thought I asked her to jump my car with the look she gave me.
“Uh, that’s not my department. Maybe try LINGERIE?”
(My bad. Many things come to mind with the word ‘lingerie.’ Snap-top bras and supportive elastic bands are not two of them. Those definitely seem “maternal” to me.”) Searched for about ten minutes in the lingerie section and almost ventured over to Patio Furniture to ask for help when I finally found them. They were clearly marked and displayed in the three inch by seven inch gap BEHIND a support beam and hidden by two perpendicular racks of knee socks. OF COURSE. I actually did have to ask for help in getting them out (I no longer span 3×7 inches in any part of my upper torso. Sorry.)
And why oh WHY do maternity pants have sewn-up pockets? The inside fabric is still there, why all the secrecy? I really don’t think anything with the word “maternity” in it should be just for show. For I have nothing I wish to show any longer.
One last gripe. For today. I think. If one more person tells me how ‘lucky’ I am that I don’t have to ‘go through actual labor,’ in terms of my impending c-section, I may rip out their tongue and shove it down their throat, gushing about their luck in not having to actually swallow any longer. That’s me, Lucky Charms Flynn. When’s the last time major abdominal surgery was considered a prize? There will be a person there whose sole job it will be to hold my major internal organs outside of my abdominal cavity for about an hour. I mean, I would never say the same to a gal who was about to undergo a natural childbirth, proclaiming her luck in avoiding needles and all forms of nasty painkillers! LUCK would be used to describe someone who was tapped gently on the shoulder and woken from a lovely sleep only to be cheerfully told that she seemed to have had a baby in her sleep. Would you like an ice cream sandwich?
I DO, however, feel lucky that I live in a time where the term DuraMorph is a real one. Think about how lovely those words are and how sweet they sound all mashed together like that. Morphine for the Duration. My new Emo band.
And finally, this last little bit of awesome was sent to me by my sister, who had had it forwarded to her from a pal. But it is I who will put it out there for public consumption and discussion: click here, please.
Check out the ‘About Us’ section. Go down to bio of ol’ ‘Chuck.’ I’ll wait.
Okay. There are three phrases that stand out to me. “All inclusive neutering” is one. “Special gift” is another. Also, that (unnecessary) bit about the more exciting relationship with Barbara.
Your assignment? Tell me what’s going on in that scenario. Also, what to do about my now-bleeding ocular cavities.
Seriously. I will wait here until you do. And wish that Slankets came in psyche-size.
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