Do you spend much time these days trying to figure out how you can survive the End Time of TV commercials? As the polar freeze drives us indoors for longer periods of
paid advisories to ask my doctor about alleged remedies with names no one should have to pronounce, I have become particularly churlish about one invading the privacy of my bowels.
C'mon. You know the one. It features a cheerful young woman popping up, say, on a bus, inquiring whether anyone uncomfortably in her midst is constipated, or has gas or diarrhea. Yep, on your TV screen, possibly just before dinner.
Should that be in everybody-in-the-world's business? It is as disagreeably intrusive as Mahatma Gandhi's obsessive interest in whether his guests had a proper bowel movement. Regularity, he believed, was not only a matter of official business but the pathway to a cleaner bathroom, which he considered to be a temple.
I guess I shouldn't be too harsh about the pop-up girl selling elixirs to a healthier life. I do wonder, however, how she explains her day job to her friends during an after-hours fast-food sitdown. OK. Yes, it helps pay the rent.