We used to hear about something called “truth in advertising.” I wonder if it any longer exists. Or if it ever did.
I guess if we can’t get truth, we can at least have entertainment, especially when our advertising comes via the television screen.
A couple of things I suspect are at least watering down the truth are the mattress ads and the dental product pitches.
I asked my favorite dentist if it was really true that acidic fluids like fruit juice could really wear away the enamel in your teeth and he said yes.
But if that were really a problem, my 80-plus-year-old teeth should be worn down to nubs. And they are not.
The other fact stretcher, I think, is the advice handed out by people wanting to sell mattresses that all mattresses over 8 years old ought to be put out to pasture and replaced.
Allegedly, they are full of dead skin, sweat and dust mites. Disgusting.
But I just don’t believe it. I have a teenaged mattress and it looks and feels as good as the day I bought it. It was expensive back then. I am not replacing it.
Here’s another question regarding another commercial. If the new cars show up vehicles in your “blind spot” is it any longer a blind spot? Think about it.
My doctor says I have COPD, though I have never had an elephant sitting on me. Between those elephants and the ones selling car insurance, there are entirely too many elephants on TV, I think.
Anyway, I have a nebulizer, so I don’t have to think about the new meds for COPD.
There’s one I can’t take according to its current users. A lady named Anne and a guy called Jeff can use BREO, because they all have four-letter names. I am a letter too long.
Lately, all the big Texas grocers are promoting food grown in Texas. I’ll bet all those farmers are happy.
One of my favorite new ones are the people inspecting the recently wrapped house, toilet paper dangling everywhere, who stop to find out what is that wonderful brand of toilet paper. Doesn’t that warm your heart?
Another happy one, at least for someone who used to sing, “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands,” is the commercial with all the ketchup users who are getting it to squirt out of the bottle with a tap, tap to the clap, clap.
I like the girl in all black who flips and flops around the house replacing all the stolen goods with better stuff.
And I like the guy who turns his “great American novel” workroom into a nursery, raises a daughter and then returns to write that great American novel.