DAMN DEMOGRAPHICS GOT ME AGAIN

Hola kids! Since your mom's wearing diapers, isn't it time you got out of yours?

Lately, my ten year old daughter has become obsessed with watching cable news. Her favorite stations are NY1 and News 12 New Jersey. Considering what kids can become obsessed with today, the news seems harmless. And at least with NY1 and News 12 New Jersey she’s not being exposed to the more salacious stories that the network news stations and less censored cable stations are promoting. 

          At least that’s how I was feeling until she became more obsessed with the commercials than the news stories. And here, again, we get into demographics. The demographics of the viewers of these news programs must be seniors since most of the commercials advertise senior products, at least during the times that my daughter is watching.

          Last week, after I stubbed my toe on the end table and I limped my way upstairs, she suggested I look into the Acorn Chair Lift that she saw advertised on T.V. “This way, you can just ride up the stairs instead of limp up them.” After noticing the gray that has begun to populate her father’s hair she announced that he is a senior citizen since all the men who appear on the commercials for NY1 have gray hair and introduce themselves as a senior citizen. The look on Jim’s face was priceless, and laughing, I asked her what that makes me. She replied straight-faced, “A pre-senior citizen, of course.”

          Jim started to laugh, but frankly I could not find the humor in it. A pre-senior citizen? I have 20 years before I can be classified as a senior citizen and they’re an important 20 years! I mean, think about it. 20 years comprises a whole infancy, adolescence and adulthood. It’s an entire generation. In other words, it’s a long, long, long time. And I still need to have my mid-life crisis and act like a teenager all over again, only this time not get grounded. (Although with Jim, I’m not so sure. I think he’d love to tell me I’m grounded. Then again, like my parents when they grounded me as a teenager, he’d be stuck under house arrest with a very petulant me.) However, Katie insists that I am a pre-senior and even produced Jim’s AARP card that had my name listed as “Spouse” to prove to me that if I want to reap the benefits of pre-senior status I have to own up to that status. She even asked if there was a status on Facebook for pre-senior.   

          I’ve always joked that Jim is deaf because he’s always asking, “What?” after I say something. Well, maybe I’m not joking, but now Katie insists he buy the hearing aid she saw on a commercial between news segments. She even left a note on his pillow that showed a picture of a Jim wearing a hearing aid and exclaiming in a bubble over his head, “I can hear you now!”

          But wait! There’s more. She asked if we could buy one of those motorized scooters she saw on T.V. for Jim so that he didn’t always have to take the car when he went to the firehouse. “Look,” she pointed out, “It even comes with an attachable orange flag so that cars can see him.” I had visions of Jim riding up Fort Lee Road with a blue fire light blaring on the handlebar of his sporty red senior scooter with attachable orange flag on his way to the firehouse.

          I guess I shouldn’t complain because last month she was fixated on the fact that I had bald spots. When she first commented that I have bald spots I brushed it off, but then I became paranoid. Holding a mirror in one hand, I’d stand with my back to the bathroom mirror trying to see if there were any bald spots peeking through the back of my head. Even though I couldn’t see any, she had me convinced that I was losing my hair. It took me two weeks to realize it was because she saw a commercial for women with thinning hair and balding.

          Oh how I miss the days of my youth when television was filled with all those cigarette and booze commercials. I’d rather have my daughter announce to the world, “My Mom lights up a Camel and drinks Budweiser all day long!” rather than “She can’t hear, she’s going bald, and she carries adult diapers in her bag. Wanna see?” 

POISED IN SHIFTING DEMOGRAPHICS

What the hell are you looking at? I'm Wonder Woman, dammit!

We wrestled each other with a fury that came from some reserve of vengeance deep inside; both of us holding on with a death grip refusing to yield; the sinews of our muscles straining to keep from giving in to the will of the other. Finally, she yielded, more likely grew bored, and I was able to pry the mail from Bad Dog’s clenched canine jaws. I ran my fist-pumping victory lap around the porch. YES! I AM ALPHA DOG!

          And so this is our daily ritual. Each day when the mail truck parks in front of our house the dog and I race to the porch and jockey for position in front of the mail slot. This must be done for if I’m not there to collect the mail when it comes pouring through the slot then all my bills will be shred into confetti and eaten by Bad Dog, and although there’s nothing more festive than confetti bills, it’s no picnic watching the dog howling to extract them from her intestines at two in the morning or explaining to Time Warner that the dog ate my bill.

          In today's mail there was a promotional give-away box from CVS. I love getting free samples from CVS. What could it be? Shampoo? Hand sanitizer wipes? New hand lotion? I ripped open the box like a kid on Christmas while Bad Dog gnarled and shredded the PSE&G bill before ingesting it. I reached my hand deep inside the box and pulled a clear plastic package that contained…wait a minute. This can’t possibly be meant for me. I checked the box’s address label and sure enough, it was addressed to me. Then I got furious. In my hands was a sample of an adult diaper! Poise for those moments when your bladder just can’t pause.

          WHAT? How do I go from birth control one birthday to adult diapers the next? I was so furious that I actually looked up the phone number for the main headquarters of CVS which I discovered was in Woonsocket, Rhode Island. After suffering through Dante’s Fifth Circle of Hell also known as the automated answering system, my thumb just kept pressing zero until a human voice answered. After airing my complaint I was switched to about three other people until finally I was transferred to a man whom I’m sure was the janitor put up by the rest of the office staff to act like a customer service manager and handle my complaint so they didn’t have to deal with a freak like me.

          “Mam,” he said trying to placate me, “we are so happy that you enjoy our free samples.”

          “No, no; I don’t enjoy this one. I’m not old enough for adult diapers!”

          “They’re not diapers; they’re liners.”

          “Don’t try to spin it on me. I’ve seen the commercials!”

“If you don’t mind, what is your age?”

Reluctantly, I told him.

          “Oh, that explains it. Since your last birthday your demographics have shifted, and that’s why you may be noticing a difference in product samples that are being sent to you.”

          “My demographics have shifted? What does that mean?” I cried. (True, my body has been undergoing seemingly seismic shifts, but that’s none of his business!)

          “It means that for promotional purposes you’re now contained in a group whose needs are more maintenance than restoration, if you will.”

          What?  I missed my own restoration period?

          “Mam, as I’m sure you found with our past samples, not every product is aimed at you—it’s aimed at your demographics. And that group constitutes over 25 years.”

          He was right. Not every free sample was for me like the K-Y Body Gel Tabasco Sauce or the Legg’s all in one thong panties and pantyhose, but at least they were life-affirming. At least they oozed possibility. At least they screamed "DESIRE!" rather than "Oops I crapped my pants!" I mean, am I wrong to suggest that the implication of adult diapers is, “Don’t worry. I’ll do my business right here on line so we won’t be late for that sunset buffet. Here’s a coupon.”

          I hung up the phone, dissatisfied and feeling old. However, to look on the bright side, I would still be considered a trophy wife if I dated at the top of my demographics. (And at this point, I don’t think Jim would even notice.) Anyway, I took the packaged Poise and threw it…well, truth be told I threw it in my purse because frankly there may come a time when I just can’t pause. And at least I’ll be poised.