“Well, since you’re going can you buy some pads while you’re out?” my wife replied.

Pads? Was she planning on moving again and I didn’t know about it? Then it hit me.

“Oh come on dear, you know how I feel about buying feminine products for you. It’s against my personal code of ethics. Besides, what if I bump into someone I know at the store? I’ll lose my man card for sure. You don’t want that do you? How will the trash get taken out then?” I said as I tried to plead my case.

“Why do you have to be such a drama queen? All I asked for was one simple favor. If it’s that big a deal I’ll just get them tomorrow,” she shot back expecting me to feel guilty.

“Great,” I said and headed toward the door. “And for the record, hearing my lifelong love interest call me a ‘queen’ of any kind doesn’t exactly do wonders for my self esteem either.”

“Fine. Get out of here you big baby before I insult you some more. You men are so fragile.”

On the way to the store I couldn’t get her words out of my head. Maybe I was being to sensitive, but a guy needs to maintain his masculinity inside a marriage. It’s critical to the survival of the relationship. Boundaries had to be established. And buying maxi-pads is where I draw the line.

Shannon and I have been married for over eight years now. During that prison sentence, I mean blissful experience; she has been very careful not to strip me of my male identity. She always encourages me to have a night out with the guys. We don’t get into much trouble anymore like we did years ago, but she is supportive nonetheless. Some of my friend’s wives don’t realize how important this male bonding is for us. The camaraderie was part of us before we got married and losing it is like giving up an arm. Ok, maybe more like a finger. But it’s important nonetheless. And Shannon understands that.

On top of allowing me guy time, Shannon has been respectful of my manhood in other ways as well. That is until today. In all the years of our relationship she has never once asked me to purchase feminine products of any kind on her behalf. I always felt she understood how big a blow to a man’s self esteem it would be to stand in line with a gallon of milk in one hand and a box of tampons in the other. Vicious.

The more I thought about it though, the more I began to warm up to the idea. There was no sense of her going back to the store later. It’s only a couple miles away but, at today’s prices, could easily burn up fifty bucks or more in gas. And besides, I buy baby formula and diapers and that hasn’t killed me yet. So I decided to take the plunge. For the first time in my life I was going to buy some maxi-pads.

Before arriving at the store I mapped out my strategy. Pick up everything else on the list first, I thought, before hitting the final stretch. Browsing around I noticed this particular grocery store was obviously designed by a married man. I say that because the distance from the feminine products to the registers was approximately two feet. This makes it very easy to sprint the final leg, getting out of the store (and visibility) as fast as humanly possible. That’s exactly what I did. I scanned the checkout lanes ahead of time picking the closest female clerk available. Everything was going perfectly. One problem though, the lady ahead of me in line was paying with a check. And I guess it must’ve been from out of state or something because it was taking an eternity for her to finish.

As I stood there, my product selections in plain view, I realized a young single male had walked up behind me. He had a bottle of chardonnay under one arm and a box of condoms in his hand. The statement he was making to the world (or at least those of us in line with him) was “That’s right everyone, I’m going home to have sex with a girl.” Or at least I think it was a girl. Never can be too sure these days. Anyway, that’s why I knew he was single. His face was filled with pure optimism. Then he tuned his glance my way.

I did my best to cover the pads but with only a gallon of milk and a pack of gum it was no use. The guy let out a snicker at my expense and I didn’t say a word about it. I was too embarrassed. It was an internal conflict though because on the one hand, I wanted to knock this guy’s teeth down his throat to prove my manhood. And there’s nothing like picking a fight at the grocery store to demonstrate that. But the other side of me prevailed; realizing that pushing the issue further would only call more attention to the fact that I was buying feminine hygiene products. My statement to the world was, “Look everyone my wife wears the pants in my relationship. I have no backbone.”

Walking in the house I tossed the contraband on the kitchen table.

“Here,” I said to Shannon as she fed the baby.

“What’s your problem?” she asked, “I thought you weren’t going to get those for me.”

She was right. I only had myself to blame. And blame I did. The embarrassment was almost too much to bear. We had to schedule an emergency session of poker just to restore my testosterone to normal levels. It was awful. That night I vowed never again to make the mistake of purchasing another feminine product for my wife. That is unless, of course, it happens to be from Victoria’s Secret. In which case my man card may even get upgraded to platinum membership.

Some people believe that the upcoming election and the promise of a new President in the Oval Office will help stop the bleeding. I am not so optimistic. This has been brewing for a very long time and any quick fix will only delay the inevitable. The foundation of the economy (American people) is very strong but I’m afraid there is no easy way out of this mess. The time has passed for us to count on the powers that be to fix things. It’s time we took control of the issue at a grassroots level and start redefining the word frugal.

Many folks have already begun adjusting to these difficult economic times. Around my household, we are more likely eating Steak-umms than a real steak dinner. If you try this yourself make sure to fold the sliced meat multiple times to better simulate the experience. The consistency is a little strange at first but desperate times require desperate measures. Other people have showed exceptional creativity in living below their means. Here are a few ideas.

• Use a squeegee at the gas station to wash your car. It is possible to do this using none of your own money. Most of the stations provide paper towels too, so drying is not an issue. Some of the owners frown on this if you don’t fill up your tank. But hey, it’s a free country (at least for now) they moved to. For the uninhibited, showers can be taken this way too saving money on your water bill. Who knows if you’re really good looking it might even make you a few bucks.
• Grab extra condiments at restaurants. Ketchup packs, mustard, napkins, and even salt and pepper packs can all be found for free at these fine establishments. With practice you can learn to ignore the mean looks you get when you ask for all that extra barbecue sauce. One friend of mine even put his kids to work squeezing out all those little packets into full size containers. This is perfect because when company comes over they will be none the wiser. He said to be sure to allow ample time for the salt and pepper though, it can be quite time consuming. Some people say this resembles child abuse, I say it’s an exercise in building character and discipline. If you want to step it up a notch and have no moral compass to speak of, I’ve heard it said you could easily slip full bottles of these items from the tables of more casual dining restaurants. Would LongHorn Steakhouse really miss one bottle of A-1 sauce? I don’t advise this but it really does add some flavor to those Steak-umms once they come off the grill.
• Eat dog food. Some people actually think this is a good idea. They caution however, to only eat the dry kind steering way clear of the canned stuff. Despite how appetizing it may appear, they swear it tastes awful. Whew, I sure am glad they figured that one out for me. Just when I was about to serve up Alpo stew too. In this case it’s better to stick with cat food. They are much more finicky than their canine companions and won’t eat the stuff we feed dogs either. The ingredients in a can of cat chow more closely resemble a can of tuna (but much cheaper) than animal food. Also, few people realize this but some brands of canned cat food are actually of better quality than the meat substance they use at a popular fast food taco joint. It’s true.
• Train your dog to beg the neighbors for food. This would definitely save money on dog food. If you combine this with the previous idea you win twice. Especially if you can teach him to beg for cat food.
• Rent out your children. Market your new business to couples thinking of starting a family of their own. Say to them, “Listen, I’m going to save you a lot of time, money, and aggravation. Pay me fifty bucks and you can take my kids home for a day. This way you can see how out of your mind you are before you have to deal with it permanently.” You can call it the “Try Before You Buy Program” and if you find some psycho that actually enjoys torture, maybe you can work out a lease purchase option. Be careful to have the contract drawn up by your own lawyers to cover your bases in the unlikely event you experience sellers remorse. While they’re on their ‘slumber parties’ (it’s extremely important to sell this properly to the children) you are not only earning an income but you will also be saving money on cat food. It’s a win-win.
• Use pine needles for under arm deodorant. This is a decent idea. True enough they are free and in my part of the world they are abundant. I’m not completely convinced they will make you smell better than using nothing at all but it’s worth a shot. Another thought, considering where you’ll be bathing, is to use a car air freshener instead. Even if you don’t have one there are bound to be some handy in someone else’s unlocked vehicle. Don’t get hung on morality here. It’s not stealing if you put it back, only borrowing. The upside of this is you can probably still get that pine tree fresh scent if you so desire.

All of these ideas are terrific. It is obvious sacrifices must be made if we are to weather these tough economic times. And I for one am more than willing to do my part. These are just some of the many creative ideas out there to help stretch your hard earned dollars just a little bit further. With any luck, some of our penny pinching will serve as an example to those running Washington. Maybe (if we lean on them hard enough) they will run the country with the same fiscal responsibility we employ in our own homes. I wonder which of these two candidates is more likely to eat a bowl of Fancy Feast? That’s sacrifice. God bless America.

Faced with an ever-increasing barrage on our senses, most of us have learned to tune these messages out altogether. It’s not for lack of effort on corporate America. They are putting advertisements everywhere. This isn’t your grandpa’s era where learning how clean Tide® gets your laundry from the boob tube or how cool it is to smoke Marlboro® cigarettes in the latest edition of Boys’ Life magazine. Not anymore.

Television and print media are covered up in ads and have been for a long time. But these marketing executives aren’t stopping there. Drive down the road and you’ll likely see a mass transit bus covered in a wrap promoting the latest zit cream. And you’d better watch your blind spot, because it’s entirely possible some minivan emblazoned with a pitch for new auto insurance could be creeping up beside you. Think it stops there? Not a chance.

Hit the restroom at the local sports bar and you’re in for a surprise. Can’t a guy even pee in peace? Do these clowns really think I’m going to stop urinating, get out a pen and paper, jot down their phone number and start racing pack mules in the desert with my buddies. That’s crazy talk. None of my friends even own a pack mule. And can you imagine the hassle getting one of those things through customs? What are these people thinking?

Advertisements these days are showing up in some very strange places. I heard of someone selling off space on their forehead in an Ebay auction. Are you serious? Somebody is going to tattoo some company’s product on their head? I’ve come up with a new expression. “It’s better to get a commercialized tattoo on your back and let everyone think you are an idiot than to get one on your forehead and eliminate all doubt.”

And if you’ve taken a trip to the local mall lately you have undoubtedly witnessed what I call ‘attack advertising’ in action. Go ahead; just try to stroll casually past the little cart selling some kind of dead ocean creature based skin treatment without being noticed. It’s not gonna happen. Just yesterday I saw some poor woman doing her best to avoid eye contact get full body tackled by one of these nut bags. It took an hour to clean up the broken glass and window display at the Gap®. But luckily the baby was all right. Companies are desperate and willing to do anything to get through to us. Those women are ruthless. If the hand sanitizer industry doesn’t work out I’m sure they’d have a brilliant career in professional wrasslin (the dramatized televised version of wrestling). I sure wouldn’t want one of them slamming me over the head with an economy-sized bottle of moisturizing cream.

I think you get the point. Commercial messages are everywhere. And the more they surround us, the more we ignore them. It’s a vicious cycle. The sad thing about it is that even the products that might arouse curiosity are often victim to horrible advertising.

One blogger I found online (thanks Mr. Gore) suggests that some of the most annoying commercials on the boob tube do exactly what they’re supposed to do. He contends that these thirty-second clips get stuck in our minds and make us remember the products they represent. Possibly. But I do have a correction to make here. The purpose of a commercial is not to get us to remember the product (though it can be helpful). The primary goal is to get us to buy something. If we don’t act, they can’t make any more ads. So while I’ll admit that branding your XYZ liquid soap is important, it’s completely worthless if I never purchase any.

Admittedly, some of these offenders are much worse than others. It seems as though a few of these idiots actually sit around the boardroom trying to come up with new and improved ways of annoying us. As a group, they have bombarded us with their wares and it has gotten out of hand. Here are some of the worst examples:

• Ads promoting legal services: These vultures are the worst. Claiming to be there to help you, the only thing they’re after is a fat paycheck. “Broke your leg, great let’s sue someone. Someone called you a mean name at work, fantastic let’s sue someone. Call Jones, Smith, Richards, McKinley, Davis, Hanson, Barney, Nichols, Peterson and associates today. And associates? There are even more of you? I really wish lawyers would stop multiplying. Did they somehow invent a cloning device and a new “secret patent” that I’m unaware of? They must have judging by the number of times I have to change the channel lately.
• Feminine hygiene products: At dinner? Is that really necessary? Also, putting them on between innings of the World Series might not be hitting the target market. Do these really have to be marketed anyway? Don’t the women who need them go buy them regardless? As far as I know this isn’t exactly an impulse purchase.
• Adult diapers: Can’t they just promote these things by word of mouth? And why in the world do they come on after 9 p.m.? Every old person I know is already asleep by then. And it’s not exactly the kind of thing I’m going to buy somebody for a present either. “Happy birthday grandma, we know how you have a hard time controlling you bladder so we got you these.
• Domino’s Pizza® commercials: As an ex employee of the famous pizza company I may be a bit jaded. But I can’t help but notice how awful their ads have been over the past few years. The Noid and Bad Andy are among the worst, this pizza giant has practically rolled out the red carpet for their competition. And Fudgems was by far the worst of a bad group. Supposed to be a life-sized brownie, the commercial depicted this faceless brown blob hugging a child at someone’s door while smearing her with brown goo. I don’t know about you but that makes me want to order some pizza. There’s no telling whose brainchild this farce was but it was obviously an enormous mistake.

There’s no doubt commercials can be aggravating. There are, however, proven ways to avoid them and combat the attack on our senses. After all, it’s our time and we’ll spend it how we please. It’s called ‘paying attention’ for a reason. And we are not without options.

Channel surfing as a recreational sport has largely disappeared. There are just too many dang channels these days. I still do it through the high-def stations every now and then for old time’s sake, but mostly I use the pop up guide like everyone else. This has a side benefit of skipping right over the commercials like a Mexican jumping bean. Speaking of that, I miss the days of cruising past the Spanish channel and seeing their latest ads. The Mentos® ones were always my favorite.

Another cool thing about new cable and satellite TV is the ability to record shows and watch them later. This has also made it much easier to ignore ads on TV. Pressing the fast forward button lets you zip right through, skipping the annoyance effortlessly. If you have this service there’s another neat trick my wife and I figured out that you could try. Don’t start watching the show when it first comes on. Give it a running head start. Then, when you get about 15-25 minutes into it (depending on the length of the program) sit down and enjoy. When you get to a commercial you can use the fast forward technique here too. The best part is, if you time it right, you will catch up and still finish about the same time the show ends normally. And you skipped all the commercials and put those extra minutes to better use. You’re welcome.

And TV ads aren’t the only ones you can successfully ignore. Whenever I go out to bars now (which is rare), and find myself in need of their restroom facility I use a new strategy. As soon as I get near the urinal I close my eyes. Nobody’s going to make me stare at an ad I’m not interested in. Sure it sometimes makes things a little tougher on the janitor, aiming and all, but it’s a price I’m willing to make him pay. If he gets angry enough they might even take the things down. But I doubt it.

Incidentally, the eye-closed technique is not as effective for ads you might run into on the road. Unless you are the passenger, I strongly recommend keeping your eyes completely open while in the car. Otherwise you may find yourself needing a new insurance company after all. Might have to bite the bullet on this one.

Unfortunately, life has changed forever. In the future there will be more ads, not less. We just have to get used to it. Pretty soon we may exist in total isolation. Sure we’ll still go out in public but we’ll have become so desensitized that we may not even acknowledge the existence of other people. How could we when they have full body tattoos touting the benefits of eating Taco Bell® for lunch? Sellouts. But I must admit, getting a Braves logo on my shoulder does sound pretty cool. Maybe they’d trade me for some season tickets.

“But its so cute Shannon,” Amy said trying to sway my wife into agreeing it would be a good purchase.

“I know what it looks like. You sent me an email link to see it online remember? I also saw the price tag. Don’t you think $300 is a little excessive and borderline insane to spend on a dog?”

“Maybe, but it will make her so happy.” Amy fought back.

“Why don’t you just go down to Goodwill and get something there. I’m sure Smooches (or whatever it’s name is) will never even know the difference.”

“But…” Amy tried to speak but my wife interrupted.

“As your best friend you could always just give me the money. I will gladly flush it down the toilet for you. Get a grip girl. Do you realize how much gasoline you could buy for that much money? It would easily get half a tank or more.”

“You’re right. I knew it wasn’t the best idea. I just love spoiling that dog.”

Sadly, Amy is not alone. Truthfully, she is far closer to normal than many. There is a whole culture out there hell bent on treating their animals like little people. I don’t mean ‘little people’ like the socially correct term for midgets or dwarfs. Nor do I mean to suggest we are only talking about miniature dogs (I wonder if the politically correct term is ‘little canine’) either. What I mean is that this rare breed of people (pun intended) thrive on taking care of their puppies like they are children. It’s strange.

Shortly after hearing about the couch, my wife received an invitation to a doggie birthday party. No joke. Her friend Bob was throwing the bash at his place and, as the card indicated, would be delighted if we could make it. There would be enough cake and ice cream so that even the ‘parents’ could have some. How sweet. Not to mention certifiably insane.

I turned to Shannon and said, “Is he aware that we don’t even own a dog?”

“I think so. But I guess it doesn’t matter. Why? You of all people aren’t actually thinking about going are you?”

“Well, I have to admit I am extremely curious. Though I’m not real comfortable showing up without a dog. What do you think about putting a leash on Cody and making him walk on all fours? It’s still a couple days off so we could probably train him not to pee on anyone’s shoe by then.”

Shannon just rolled her eyes. I guess the magic is fading. Then I got an idea that hit me like a bolt of lightning. There was no just way I could feel comfortable at that party without a dog. So I decided to call 1-800-Rent-A-Mutt to see if they had anything available on such short notice. All they had left were Chihuahuas and if it had been closer to Cinco de Mayo we’d have had a heck of a time finding one of those too. Lady luck was indeed smiling on us.

After 48 miserable hours of anticipation the big day finally arrived. We hopped in the car and headed down to pickup our dog-for-a-day. For no extra charge the place even dressed him for us in an outfit of our choosing. I selected Super Man because I thought it was funny. Being a Chihuahua and all, wearing something like that would imply a Napoleon complex. Shannon thought it might make upstage the guest of honor.

“Really babe? You think I might hurt Bob’s dog’s feelings?”

Needless to say they dressed him like the Man of Steel, cape and all. As he jumped inside the trunk (relax, it wasn’t a long drive) I started thinking about names for our new companion. Shannon thought I was psycho naming a dog I was only going to have for a few hours but I pondered the possibilities anyway.

“Taco has a nice ring to it don’t you think babe?”

She pretended to have dozed off.

“It was between that and Peso,” I continued but she didn’t budge.

So by a unanimous vote the name stuck. Taco was going to be my entertainment for the next few hours. And I couldn’t wait to introduce him to his new friends.

Arriving at the shindig Bob walked over and gave the introductions.

“This is my little princess, Tinkerbell. And who’s that little rascal you brought with you? I didn’t even know you two had a dog,” our host inquired.

I shot a look at Shannon, “Told you so hon.” Then, turning my attention back to Bob I answered, “This here is Taco. He’s a rental.”

“Well, I’ve never heard of such a thing but come right in. He looks more like Super Taco to me. I’m so glad you could come to help celebrate Tinky’s birthday. She turns three years old today!”

By this point I was already thinking about writing my next article. It was sensory overload. A million ideas were running around my head all at once. “Is calling the dog Tinky really necessary? Isn’t Tinkerbell feminine enough already? If I told Tinky that in people years she’s old enough to drink would she talk Bob into getting us some alcohol? It would make things more bearable for the ‘adults’ I think.” I simply couldn’t keep up. I never thought I’d say this but there was too much funny for me to process it all. I took a brief moment outside to regain my composure, and afterward we had a grand time.

There were birthday hats and party favors. Pin the Tail on the Cat was quite the crowd pleaser. The contest ended in a tie, however, since no opposable thumbs equals no pinning of anything. I still had a blast watching the mutts try to walk after being blindfolded and spun around three times. Clowns made balloon humans (wait for it) and painted faces. It was awesome. Poor Super Taco kept looking around like he was lost. I think that maybe the other parties he’d attended had plenty of Corona to go around. And I’m sure he would have felt more comfortable if there was at least one piñata. Also, I can’t be sure but I don’t think he speaks any English. It all sounds like barking to me.

As things wound to a close we said our goodbyes and I took Taco back to his home. He looked at me sadly and I assured him we’d take him to the next dog party we got invited to. Anyway, I heard rumor that those guys are starting a tee ball league. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. What they don’t know is that we are getting my boy private lessons this summer. When the season starts he’s going to be a home run hitting animal (again pun intended). I’m gonna be so proud. I can’t wait for the season to start. Maybe he’ll make the all-star team.

Now I realize a few of you may be screaming, “You big wuss! You’re afraid of the dentist? What a pansy!”

To which I’d reply, “Yes, I am a tad bit worried about visiting scary Mr. White Lab Coat Guy but not for the reason you may think.”

I don’t have any reservations whatsoever about pain, not physical at least. Besides, if any serious procedures are necessary you can bet the first thing Dr. Feelgood is gonna do is jack you up on painkillers. I’ve also hurt myself severely so many times growing up they gave me a frequent visitor card down at the local emergency room. Sadly, after getting all the fifth little skull and crossbones punched out the receptionist informed us that I was not actually entitled to a free visit. What I could get was 2% off any ridiculously overpriced item at the gift shop. It was a nice gesture anyway.

Needless to say, I’m no stranger to dealing with pain so that’s not the issue. What had been bothering me was the irrational fear that the dentist (and everyone else in the office including the patients still waiting in the lobby) would be laughing at my expense. And that would be just awful. You see I have been putting off going to the dentist for a long, long time now. It’s been on the to-do list but just never seems to make it to the top. And the longer it takes, the more I procrastinate. Deep down I knew it was inevitable. Sooner or later I was going to have to face the music. I am proud to say that day has come.

Now I do want to take a brief moment to pat myself on the back. I realize it took Shannon scheduling the appointment for me, driving me there, pulling me out of the car, and helping the dentist strap my arms and legs into the chair. But it was me who resisted the urge to clamp my chompers down on the dentist’s gloved hand during the cleaning. And I didn’t. I wanted to. But I didn’t. Not even once. I’ll admit it may have had a little something to do with wondering where that sharp metal tip would’ve ended up but I’ll take the credit anyway. I’ve got to hold onto something positive from the experience.

Luckily the dental hygienist assigned to me had a great sense of humor. She cut up with me about not visiting in so long. And she hardly scolded me a bit about the current condition of my teeth. But I knew it wasn’t good when she turned her attention to the tartar.

“Close your eyes,” she said as she started chiseling away at my bottom teeth.

“Close my eyes?” I asked, “What on earth for?”

I soon realized she was simply trying to protect me from all the flying debris. With eyes clamped shut my mind raced. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I thought, “Are my teeth in that bad of shape?”

The short answer to that question is yes. Apparently, even though I brush pretty regularly but apparently it’s not doing the trick. I’ve heard them say on television commercials that brushing alone is not enough but I thought they were just trying to sell more mouthwash and dental floss. But the truth is, they were right. And in my case the metal orthodontic brace I’ve had in my mouth since I was fifteen wasn’t helping matters either. The dentist also strongly suggested I have it removed immediately.

At this point, despite how things were going it wasn’t as bad as I had expected. I figured there would be some pretty serious challenges given the enormous gap in between visits. But nobody was taunting me in the least. No scolding, finger pointing, or even a hint of name-calling. Then the dentist walked in.

He opened my mouth wide with a mirrored device. Moving it around he started dictating to the hygienist in techno-speak. And although I am not well versed in their native tongue I could tell by his tone that things had taken a tone for the worse. Finishing with her I noticed the smile had completely escaped her face. He then crossed his arms and turned his attention toward me.

“Mr. Basham,” he began, “we are going to need to work very hard on how we take care of our teeth from here on out. This is very serious. We are going to have a deep cleaning done right away, extract two wisdom teeth, and we’re going to need to go by the store and get a Waterpik today. As soon as our gums recover we’ll need to begin using this device along with a more structured approach to brushing.”

Judging by his use of language, this man was obviously very interested in assisting. I remember thinking, “Well at least he’s going to be there with me every step of the way to offer guidance. Shannon might not like him in the house every morning and night but I find a sense of comfort in the accountability aspect of it all.” He concluded my scolding that day by turning me over his knee. I thought it was somewhat strange at first, but we were in Alabama and as far as I know gays are strictly outlawed here so there’s nothing to worry about. Leaving the office, I tucked my tail between my legs and went straight out to buy my new toy ready to rid my mouth of scum for good. Not exactly the next electronic device on my wish list. However, desperate times require desperate measures.

I am now on a strict regimen of both brushing regularly (24 times a day including nights, weekends, and the occasional holiday) and blasting away food particles with my brand spanking new jet powered aqua-blaster. I’ll admit one of the hardest adjustments for me was buying a new alarm clock every time one inexplicably broke itself against the bedroom wall. Getting up every hour to brush is harder than it sounds. Besides that though things are working out great. I am proud to announce my dental recovery program is well underway. Now I’m just dreading that fateful trip to the doctor.

“Do any of these things actually work?” I inquired still in shock at what I was witnessing.

“Not really, at least not the majority. Some of them haven’t been opened so I can’t be sure.”

“Right,” I said. “Then why would you spend money on this stuff Mike? This is not like you.”

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “Logically, I know better than to buy this crap. But the second a new ab-machine shows up on television my brain goes haywire. Next thing you know I’m having another garage sale. I’ve accumulated so much that I even bought one of those As Seen on TV signs for the next one. Walmart has them in Spanish too.”

“Isn’t there some sort of support group for this? Like AA or something?”

“Not that I can find. I’m afraid it may be hopeless,” he told me defeated.

What’s strange about this is that Mike is normally very sane. He is bright, rational, and really quite frugal with his money. Except, apparently, when it comes to those amazingly effective devices only available for a limited time. Personally, I think it was the price slashing and the free bonus at the end that got him.

I will admit to having been caught in the web of these marketing masterpieces myself on occasion. I have watched in awe as these masters of marketing set the hood of a car on fire without damage. There is also the one where they dump everything you can imagine on brand new carpet. Ink stains, pig blood, and even a drunk man’s vomit (they had a hard time getting him to leave) were no match for the super-duper stain remover. So yes, I have seen my share. These shows were often the best thing on at three in the morning. And to tell you the truth, I came dangerously close to buying something one time back in college.

My roommate Chris and I had seen the same video demonstration for the Qwik-Cook Grill a few times now and were extremely fascinated. This thing was awesome. And they couldn’t have hit their target market any better. It was small and extremely portable making it the perfect companion for both tailgating and last minute keg parties. Beer and BBQ are, for the southern man, a right of passage. And this little number was perfect. It also had been designed with 72 computer-generated holes (a major scientific breakthrough) to allow for its unique cooking process. That’s where it really got us. Forget about needing charcoal or having to start a bonfire to get the party started. This baby functions on only ten sheets of newspaper. That’s all it took to create a blazing inferno and cook burgers for all your friends.

This was just too much. After all, who doesn’t have ten sheets of spare newspaper lying around? Well actually, we didn’t. We hardly kept up with the stuff inside our textbooks back then, never mind staying abreast of the contents inside a newspaper. If it wasn’t being shown on SportsCenter it wasn’t newsworthy as far as we were concerned. But we dismissed this as a small obstacle, thinking surely somebody we knew would have access to this newfangled form of firewood. Also, the commercial centered on famous ex Chicago Bears linebacker Dick Butkus. He went to various locales demonstrating the effectiveness of this modern scientific marvel to anyone he could find. If Dick Butkus was promoting the thing it must be good. He wouldn’t lie to us would he? At this point the hook was pretty well set in my mouth and Chris, on the edge of his seat, seemed to be on the verge too.

“Dude, this thing is totally freaking awesome (that’s how we talked back then),” he said never breaking his eyes away from the screen.

“I know man, it’s exactly what we need for our beach trip this weekend,” I replied.

“That’s it,” Chris exclaimed, “I’m ordering it.”

He reached for the phone and then realized something. Guys like us were not actually the perfect market. Close. The problem with a couple beer drinking, cookout loving college kids buying the most perfect invention they’d ever seen was a small matter of funding. It seemed that three easy payments of only $9.95 was not so easy for us. It cut into our beer money. And we couldn’t have that. Choosing between eating and drinking was a no-brainer. Crisis averted.

That was the only real scare I ever truly had. Oh, I still watch them on occasion. And it’s not as though a few of them aren’t offering solid products. The great George Foreman peddled his wares through this vehicle. And who can forget Chuck Norris and Christie Brinkley teaming up to bring us the most complete home gym ever offered? This one really does work. I tried Mike’s after ripping the packaging off. Both of these products can still be bought to this day. But most of it is junk. Fly-by-night companies looking to make a quick buck preying on those without the will to fight. The only safe way to separate the good from the bad is to wait patiently. If it’s still around in a couple years you can feel relatively safe in your purchase.

But for some of us, patience is not our strong suit. Mike, who is a telecom guy by trade, has taken drastic measures. With his incredible expertise he has set his phone to call me whenever he tries to buy from an infomercial. Then it is my job to talk him down, which I do gladly. Now if only I could get my hands on that dang grill.

Anyway, the fascination for the end of October remains and with two small children, there seems to be no escaping the hype. Cody is almost four and trick or treating is definitely in the cards for me this year. I may even be forced against my will to dress the part. Lord I hope not. Shannon’s enthusiasm can be quite infectious and I may turn out walking the neighborhood streets in full Ninja attire. It wouldn’t be the first time.

A good costume is not something to be taken lightly. It is truly an outward expression of your inner self. For me, humor and sarcasm play an obvious role. As for my boy, he already has his mind set on being Spider Man Cody. He is already practicing his web slinging and wall climbing and its only early August. I can’t wait. My little girl, Taylor, will be ten months old and will be going as either a ghost or a jack-o-lantern. I picked up both onesies (if you have kids you know what these are) at Wally World for three bucks each. As for Shannon, I recommended she go as a witch to save us from buying a costume. She was not amused.

After much debate, I began thinking about why I disliked Halloween so much in the first place. We went back and forth, neither of us able to convince the other to change their position. So I did some research to find out more about this strange celebration. Here are a few neat tidbits about what I discovered.

• More than 93% of children, under the age of 12, will go out trick-or-treating. I could have told you that without the help of Google. Might as well start them off young believing they can get something for nothing.
• 90% of parents admit to sneaking goodies from their kids’ Halloween trick-or-treat bags. Again, another great lesson for the little ones. Take or be taken. Isn’t that the eleventh commandment?
• The first Halloween card was made in the early 1920’s. These days, over 28 million Halloween cards are sent each year. U.S. consumers spend about $50 million on Halloween greetings. I have never given or received one of these in my life. And I really don’t understand the relevance. Getting a card that says, “Happy evil-is-roaming-the-earth-taking-deserving-souls to-the-depths-of-Hell day” seems a tiny bit odd. Maybe it’s just me.
• Over 10% of pet owners dress their pets in Halloween costumes. At least these fanatical pet owners are consistent. I especially love when they swap roles and the pet is walking the owner. Seems more natural that way.
• Bobbing for apples is thought to have originated from the roman harvest festival that honors Pamona, the goddess of fruit trees. In fairness to the Roman gods, I’m afraid Pamona got ripped off. Goddess of the fruit trees? That’s a pretty useless and narrow thing to be a god of if you ask me. Maybe we can lobby to get garden vegetables added to her sphere of godliness.
• Halloween is the 2nd most commercially successful holiday, with Christmas being the first. Jesus must be so proud to know he’s still number one.

In my quest for the truth about Halloween, I also discovered this interesting piece of folklore. Apparently, the carving of jack-o’-lanterns originated from the tradition of carving the faces of lost souls into hollowed out pumpkins and turnips. A candle was placed inside the carvings making the faces glow. The Halloween lanterns were placed on doorsteps to ward off evil spirits. Sound like a great plan to me. The perimeter of my house this year will look like the world’s biggest bonfire pumpkin patch. I’m not taking any chances.

I have now done my due diligence. But I am still in disagreement with Shannon about this evil day of the year. However, I am going to take it in stride and do the fun stuff with the kids. We will still dress up in costumes and take the kids out trick or treating. I just want Cody and Taylor to know that when they grow up that in this case, daddy was right and mommy was wrong. I better be careful. Or else she might use her witchy-woman powers to turn me into a frog.

When I was a boy my father knew the importance of a good spanking every now and then. He would come into a room when we were acting up and a mere crack of the belt got us back in line quickly. That’s because we knew he was serious. If we didn’t listen, we got the belt. Simple. Behavior followed by consequence. A couple red marks across the back of the legs will make even smart mouth kids like me think twice about open rebellion. I was only dumb enough to challenge the dreaded leather one time in my life.

After spending my youth openly challenging my father frequently, I began to become quite adept at knowing when I’d crossed the line. In those instances I realized before it happened that the belt was coming soon. On one such occasion, I got the bright idea to stuff my pants with Archie comic books to absorb the blows. And I convinced Kevin to do the same. They were more like small paperback books in size than regular comics and were the perfect defense, or so I thought, to corporal punishment. Boy was I wrong. Dad went through his usual routine of beating us senseless for misbehaving before noticing we weren’t crying. Not only that, looking closer he saw that we were actually smirking at each other. That’s when Kevin started laughing.

“Shut up punk,” I said to him nervously. “Dad doesn’t think this is funny.”

But he couldn’t stop laughing. It became contagious and I started to join him. I knew my father was surely onto us now, but I still couldn’t get control of myself. ‘The giggles’, as we called them, had taken over. Everything anyone said or did at this point was hilarious.

Dad tried to be mad at first shouting, “You kids think this is funny?”

“No sir,” I said. “Not at all. It’s just that we can’t stop laughing.”

Fortunately for us ‘the giggles’ were very powerful that day and even overtook my all-powerful father. He wanted to spank us but luckily for us, was unable to wield his weapon through the commotion. A higher power must have been smiling on us that day as we escaped the situation unscathed. We learned a great lesson though and never again used the power of the comic book to protect us from a spanking.

So we grew up with boundaries. It’s kind of like the idea of an invisible fence for animals. At first they push the limits to see just how far they can go. But after a few sharp volts of electricity go shooting through their body things change. They adjust so quickly, if fact, that the fence becomes unimportant. Incidentally, this technique works well with toddlers too and the manufacturer recently started marketing the product to this group. Just be especially careful to pay attention to the weight requirements on the package. It can tell you from personal experience it is very important.

Dad wasn’t the only one who believed in punishing us when we got out of hand. Though not one for the traditional spankings, momma had other weapons at her disposal to keep us in line. Truth be told, we pushed her beyond her limits sometimes. I will even admit now that I may have occasionally even provoked her on purpose. But my actions were not without repercussion. Mom would quite often resort to the closest thing available, her hand. My biggest problem was being a smart butt (go figure) and if I hit a nerve, a swift slap across the face would follow. She loved us very much. I know that. But she had to maintain a sense of order. I have had cold water thrown in my face, been dragged out of a store by me ear, had duct tape across my mouth, and been forced to stand with my nose against the wall for hours on end. However, the worst technique in her arsenal of discipline only came out under the most severe violations. And I can still remember one of them like it happened yesterday.

I was walking in the back yard with the neighbor kid Josh when he started cussing at me.

“You better stop that,” I said as every profanity known to man flew out of his trashy little mouth.

“Or what? You gonna run and tell mommy?” he replied.

Next thing I knew there was a voice coming from what I now realized was my mother’s open bedroom window.

“Wesley Brent Basham, get your tail in here right now! Josh, go home before I yank you in here too.”

“Yes ma’am,” Josh said cowardly as he tucked his tail between his legs and scurried home.

As for me, I anxiously walked inside to face the music. Arriving at my mother’s doorway I found her standing near the restroom waiting patiently for me to come over. She had a bizarre look of calm upon her face as she motioned me over toward her. I swallowed hard and started moving, knowing full well that whatever mom had in store for me would be easier to take than dealing with Dad when he got home. Or so I thought.

“Stick out your tongue,” she said.

“What?” I blurted out, surprised by her request.

“I said, stick out your tongue. Don’t make me ask you again.”

Fearing the worst I eased my tongue slowly out of my mouth wondering what could possibly be coming next. Then it happened. She pulled her hand from behind her back and scrubbed my mouth out with a bar of Zest soap. Seeing my reaction her anger disappeared as I could tell she was trying desperately to hold back the laughter. I ran into the bathroom and shoved my face into the sink. It is no exaggeration to say I held my tongue under the water for the better part of an hour. The taste just would not go away. It was awful. But I must admit, not another foul word escaped my lips until I hit high school. So while her methods may have been a bit unorthodox, it is hard to argue their effectiveness.

That is precisely what’s missing in society today. No, I’m not talking about child abuse. I mean a firm hand of discipline in kid’s lives giving them boundaries and helping them grow into responsible adults. Things would be much different if parents would just get a little more involved.

• Got your nose pierced? Great, lets pierce both your cheeks too. I don’t care if you do have a ‘leakage’ problem when you try to drink something. You’re the one who wanted holes in your body.
• Spent the night at a friend’s house without telling us? Fantastic. When do you move in with them? Your stuff is already out by the street. Sorry about the Playstation being destroyed. Guess they aren’t tough enough to handle a two-story drop onto pavement after all.
• Want to have a temper tantrum at Walmart? No problem. Wait until you get to high school and your mother and I have one in the middle of the dance floor at your senior prom. We’ll make sure we yell out your name so everyone knows we belong to you.
• Like to set things on fire? Ok. We’ll start a bonfire tomorrow using the entire contents of your room as kindling. Luckily its all already out by the road. Invite your friends over and we’ll have a cookout.
• Think it’s cool to talk back sarcastically to your parents? Perfect. I hope you like the taste of soap. Duct tape is also very useful in this situation. Some methods are simply timeless.

These are just a few examples. The main thing for parents to remember is to be creative. And despite what the critics scream about children’s rights and all that, remember, they don’t have any. As long as they are living under your roof you make the rules. Children are amazingly resilient. We have a moral obligation to raise these kids into productive members of society. And I for one intend to take my duty seriously. I can only hope you do too.

People like me are used to being called hicks,

For you northern folks though, you’ve got it confused,

You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover even when it looks used,

Though we don’t come from money or live with high class,

To truly understand a man you must drink from his glass,

Indeed things have been said that I’m sure are quite true,

Some necks in my family even have a slight reddish hue,

I eat hash browns and grits and I like my tea sweet,

Other foods in the world just can’t seem to compete,

And don’t get me started on smokin’ a hog,

Nothing cooks better over a fresh burning log,

I go fishing for food or to mount in plain sight,

A man knows he’s alive when he pulls his line tight,

We fix things ourselves whenever it’s broke,

If duct tape can’t fix it there may be no hope,

We don’t curtsey or bow when we meet someone new,

A simple heartfelt handshake we think oughta do,

Our lifestyles are simple; respect and honesty go very far,

And not every southern man spends his life in a bar,

Despite the simple appearance and our slow southern drawl,

We are each very different, as diverse as them all,

But some people still don’t get it and that’s just fine by me,

Cause to tell you the truth there’s no one I’d rather be.

It is with great pleasure that I jot down these lines,

Because a man like you simply can’t be defined,

Escaping the womb with a swift kick to mom’s gut,

The C-section was born as doctors marveled and cut,

No breast milk for you when you were a tot,

Straight whiskey was served and you drank quite a lot,

As a child in school no bully dared ever touched you,

Because they all knew the potential for losing a tooth,

Growing into a man it became crystal clear,

No one ever messed with you out of respect and great fear,

You are undoubtedly the greatest fighter the world has ever seen,

I heard you once killed a man by giving a look that was mean,

Creating all the colors of the world except the sissy shade of pink,

You actually can lead a horse to water and make him drink,

Historians are wrong you did in fact build Rome in a day,

Just one of many weekend projects causing a great deal of dismay,

Destroying the periodic table has scientists thinking you unwise,

But its because the only element you acknowledge is one of surprise,

Creating a new species by kicking a horse in the chin,

The animal we now call ‘giraffe’ came about on a whim,

When you come around enemies run off and hide,

Afraid of the man, who sneezes with eyes open wide,

With a roundhouse so strong it’s visible from outer space,

The rest of us just pray it never lands in our face,

A man’s man you are and a legend you would be,

Except for you death is not possible as with mortals like me,

And so ends my tribute to a man with no match,

The world would be so much better if we could just clone you from scratch.