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Humor June 2016

The Old Gal

Reader Discretion Advised

By Anne Ashley

I've lost count of the times I've been watching television in the company of guests only to be unexpectedly confronted by an ad for lovemaking superfluities, personal hygiene remedies, constipation tonics or body enhancers! Half the time I don’t even know my guest’s middle names, let alone what feminine hygiene routines they follow or which products they prefer to enrich their libidos.

I have always considered swearing to be nothing more than an extension of everyday language. I don’t mind it used in aggression, to punctuate a good point or as humor. I even believe that in some cases it’s the only way the narrator can express exactly what they intend. Granted, some words are better left to more grown-up audiences but there are a few profanities that can be dropped into conversation with nary an offense to even the most pious amongst us. An innocent damn or an innocuous hell is practically elementary these days.  

Anyone who’s spent ten minutes in my company learns quickly of my penchant for everything from Disney-style expletives to full-throttle obscenities, depending on the occasion (and topic). No word too decadent, no phrase too immoral, so long as the audience is like- minded, prepared or deserving – case in point; these latest rounds of Tuesday night political debates has me screaming obscenities into the air enough to convince the neighbors that I have Turret’s Syndrome! 

Anyway, I confess to my colorful vocabulary because I wish to provide convincing proof that I am no prude. I've been on this earth long enough to have heard, seen, tasted, felt and encountered just about everything.

Apart from this modern open-mindedness for advertising products that beautify, boost or recover the most private of bodily private parts, that is. I've lost count of the times I've been watching television in the company of guests only to be unexpectedly confronted by an ad for lovemaking superfluities, personal hygiene remedies, constipation tonics or body enhancers! Half the time I don’t even know my guest’s middle names, let alone what feminine hygiene routines they follow or which products they prefer to enrich their libidos. So learning that we can collectively get our hands on the cure for ED, feminine drought conditions or a new and improved unisex pill to make sure we’re all ready when the moment arises in between programs is cringe-making. I've seen less uncomfortable faces in a dentist’s waiting room!

Trust me; it’s no compensation that most of these offers come with a buy-one-get-one-free deal, either: just call the convenient “idiot number” and I’m assured that I’ll get twice as much help for my sex life, aging body and itchy parts, by just paying separate postage and packaging (I call them idiot numbers because evidently anyone who has trouble making sex last three days or has an irksome itch, also has trouble remembering more than three different numbers in a row – i.e. 1-800-55555 or the even more offensive, the commonly used prefix plus clever moniker – i.e. -800-DRY-SPELL). 

I don’t know what’s worse, admitting that I'm having trouble in the bedroom, bathroom, and lower body department in front of my assembled friends and mere acquaintances or that I need to keep back-up supplies for my trouble in the bedroom, bathroom, and lower body department!

It’s not just evening or late-night viewing schedules, either. Even daytime programs can catch me off guard when a commercial interrupts a harmless newscast with “good news” that I'm not alone in my world of suffering … and better still, here’s a coupon for my pesky (read, intimate) new and improved cream available online at www.fallingapart.com (the modern day alternative to the idiot number – the imbecile’s catchy web address), lest I’d like to broadcast to all and sundry that parts of me are aging worse than others. I don’t know about you but I’d rather suffer in silence than to go through all the palaver of inevitably registering with all my relevant contact information on a site that will hold me ransom for the rest of my life and fill my inbox with other equally disturbing products, than to ask for 50 cents off my “Secret Sunshine in a Bottle.”

What is the world coming to? My generation got along just fine without having to rely on commercial breaks to educate us on every ailment, complaint and need we might have had in our early days of maturing. If we didn’t have a parent or a close relative to discretely discuss life’s trials and tribulations with, we plodded on until experience educated us. And I dare say our grandparents also managed without the sponsors of The Great Gildersleeve enlightening them about the treatment for low testosterone or unfair gender expectations. I mean, whatever would great-nana make of a radio advertisement that informed her of what to do about great-granddad’s low sex drive? Hell, Nana was probably too busy raising her 12 children and too grateful for his lack of attention to even notice that Gramps was spending more time happily whittling away his time on the porch than pestering her with his devotion!    

Seriously, it’s not just adult programs that should come with viewer discretion warnings; it’s the @#*!! commercials in between too! 

 

Be sure to follow me on twitter@anneashley57.

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