Boomers be afraid, be very afraid

I'm weak, out of control, with little will power. I woke up Sunday morning and tried as hard as humanly possible to stay away from Tim Russert, George Stephanopolis,and Chris Matthews. I didn't need them, I wasn't interested, I'm an independent thinker capable of a position of personal isolationism. I walked through the den head down, passed the tv and with every ounce of strength put one foot in front of the other. Coffee was the only thing on my mind. "I love coffee, I can't wait to have a nice leisurely cup of coffee, hang out in the kitchen, look out the window, give the dog a biscuit, think about... OH WHO WAS I KIDDING? I grabbed the cup, spilling most of it, and ran back to catch the shows. The dog would have to wait, along with the bucolic view out the window. I was almost in withdrawl as I frantically fumbled around with the seven clickers it takes to get to one freaking channel. For God's sake I just wanted a lousy station, which remote turned on the television??? I stopped myself from throwing the silver one against the wall realizing that would be counter -productive. I was almost feverish. Ahhhh there was Tim, click, there was George, I stopped shaking and settled in with my boys.

If only the morning was filled with my usual yelling at the screen in protest, but it wasn't. The commercials freaked me out. I tried to ignore them, but couldn't; they were specifically aimed at my demographic. Baby boomers, run, hide, head for the hills, Madison Avenue is after us, and it isn't pretty. It's sad, so very sad. We're not old yet. We don't deserve this; go away! Take your old age products and put them on the air in another time slot. I don't want to know where my life is heading or already arrived. I had no idea what "Flomax" was for, but there on my screen was a group of men roughly boomer age or a little older out doing various sports and either frantically jumping off their bikes or out of boats to hit the bathroom. Men, you have prostate problems and "Flomax" is the solution. Wow and ugh. "Ducolax" was next in this Sunday morning line-up of fun. If I didn't have regularity issues yet they're on the horizon and this product is my salvation. Ugh again. I didn't need "The Hair Club For Men" but they're looking for self conscious "boomer" bald guys. I couldn't figure out however, if the club grows hair for you in a petri dish and plants it on your head or makes a wig out of your own hair. I don't really want the answer and good luck to men who do. Weight loss was next and afterall, we could all stand to flatten our abs. I suggest just giving up. Of course thirty minutes couldn't go by without being reminded I can't see the print on a menu. Bifocals are affordable and no one will know I'm wearing them. I was now totally depressed and vowed to stop going to restaurants. Practically in tears, I no longer cared who was running for President , yet couldn't help but notice that Tim Russert's hair was thinning and he could stand to loose a few pounds.