Failed willful suspension of disbelief with commericals

I tend to overanalyze commericals. That's one of the reasons I love TiVo--since it's so easy to just zip right past them, I save myself the effort of pondering unrealistic pieces of advertising. But there are a few things I tend to watch live, and one of these is the news. Last night, one of the local news shows had a commecial for the morning news. It featured the entire morning news crew in a couple's home as the couple awakened and began their day: the weather forecaster said it was going to be a bright and sunny day; one of the news anchors offered the woman a toothbrush with pre-applied toothpaste; the sports announcer gave tickets to the man, etc.

Now, the couple took all this in stride--which, of course, was the point of the commercial: the news team was helping the couple prepare for their day and everyone is happy; of course that's how the news channel would want the couple to appear, blah blah blah. But during the entire commercial, I was thinking about how I would react if I were placed in the same situation.

My alarm goes off at 5:55. I groan, roll over, and hit the off button.

"Morning!" chirps Anchor 1 (female).

She and I scream in unison, but for entirely different reasons. "What're you doing in my room?" I croak, just as she says, "Good Lord, your hair looks like Krusty the Klown's!"

I pull my sheets up to my chin and my eye darts around the room, counting invaders. They're all here: of course there's Anchor 1; then there's Anchor 2 (male), Traffic Reporter (female), Sports Reporter (female), Weather Forecaster (male), and Replacement Anchor/Traveling Reporter (male).

"Granted," says Anchor 1 as she edges closer to peer at my bedhead, "his hair is blue, but you certainly have that tri-point thing of his." [Note: Of course the woman in the commerical was already wearing makeup, and her hair was a tangle-free, shiny curtain of black hair.]

"It's the result of sleeping for seven hours when you have curly hair that's long-ish but not long enough to tie back," I mutter. Then, louder, "What're you doing in my bedroom?"

"We're your Morning News Crew!" they chorus, and beam at me. I wish I had a baseball bat under the bed.

"Say hi to the camerama-- whoops, cameraperson!" says Anchor 1, and giggles. Cameraperson (androgynous) waves at me from my doorway.

"I repeat: what're you doing in my bedroom?"

"We're here to help you start your day," says Weather Forecaster. "Uh-oh! You better get out and walk your dog now, it looks like it's going to be another scorcher with record-breaking heat!" He grabs my arm and tries to pull me out of bed.

It occurs to me to scream "Sexual harassment!" but instead I yank back my arm and cower under the covers.

Traffic Reporter is at the window, having pulled back the shades, and looks at the street through a pair of binoculars. "Looks like the road to the lake is clear, very little traffic. One stoplight appears to be slow letting cars across the intersection--wait, there they go! We have no gridlock!" She turns to the east. "And it looks like the road to the gym is clear as well, but you better take your dog to the lake quick, because who knows what it'll be like in a half-hour!"

Now I realize that I have no bra, and my cheery Morning News Crew wants me to get out of bed and flop in front of the camera. [Note: The woman in the commercial was not well-endowed enough to flop, and she probably got to wear a bra anyway.]

Now Replacement Anchor/Traveling Reporter holds up a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. "Your clothes." He smiles at me as if I'm supposed to thank him for rummaging through my closet. [Note: The man in the commercial did.] And from behind his shoulder, I can see into my closet. The bra that I wish I was wearing hangs right next to my robe, in plain view. I groan and cover my face.

"Come on, you haven't got all day," says RA/TR. He shakes my clothes in my face.

"Well then, get out so I can change," I snarl at all of them. [The commercial skipped over the part where the couple went from PJs to work clothes.]

Six smiles falter. Maybe seven; I can't see Cameraperson's face.

"Well, I suppose that's reasonable--" says Anchor 1, a frown on her face. "And let's see if we can't get makeup and hair here for her," she whispers as they trudge out of the room. "That hair--"

"It's bedhead!" I shout. Cameraperson keeps the camera trained on me as I get out of bed, doing my best to keep my boobs from flopping. Then, and only then, does Cameraperson leave the doorframe and shut the door.

At last I emerge, after double-checking that I do not have a baseball bat under the bed, and head to the bathroom. Since the morning news crew lines the hallway, there is no chance of escape. In the bathroom, I see that Sports Reporter has already found my toothbrush and applied toothpaste to it. "Don't forget the game tonight," she says as she gives me my toothbrush and pulls some tickets out of her pocket.

"I don't like sports, and all the Denver teams suck right now anyway." I take the toothbrush and ignore Sports Reporter's pressed lips and proffered "tickets," which I now see are just pieces of paper. "And who brushes their teeth before they pee in the morning!" Then I shove her out of the bathroom. [Because unless it's about incontinence or a bladder issue, no one has to urinate in commercials.]

Once I emerge, Weather Forecaster is at it again. "Already seventy-five degress and climbing! You'd best get on your way."

"Sunscreen," I mutter, and head back to my bedroom. Too bad the bathroom didn't have a window I could climb out of.

"Ah yes," says Anchor 2. "Studies say that young women are the fastest-growing group of skin cancer cases. What's causing this trend? Evening Correspondent 1 reports at five." He eyes me as I slather sunscreen on my face. "Now, since you have brown hair, brown eyes, and are freckle-free, you are less likely to develop skin cancer than people with light hair, light eyes, and freckles, but you should still use an SPF of at least fifteen--"

"You stole that from the newspaper, didn't you? And why don't you save it for Evening Correspondent 1?"

Finally I get my dog (who, this one time, decided not to bark at intruders) hooked up to his leash. I head out of the house to see my Morning News Crew congregated on the lawn, camera still rolling.

"Right, who's ready for the next house?" asks RA/TR.

They cheer and stride toward the neighbors' home. I heisitate, then run back inside to look up their phone number. They deserve a warning.