Listening to commercial radio these days is nothing but a barrage of advertisements with a tiny, tiny bit of music thrown in.  And without going into the quality of today’s pop music *raises cane and tells kids to get off her lawn* what I’m really not feeling on the air are these dieting commercials.

Of course, they all promise to make you eat less, spontaneously lose weight and just generally try to undermine your confidence in your body in order to prey on your self-esteem which in turn might make you open your wallet for yet another freaking chemical or pill or whatever.  When I turn on the radio to a pop or top 40 station, I know I’ll hear this.  And that’s fine.  I understand that if I listen to this station, I’m going to hear this crap.

But even knowing that this is what I’m signing up for when I turn on the Marconi machine, there is just one phrase that burns me up every damn time:

“Get High School Skinny…..”

Seriously?  Get high school skinny?  Using a place you were educated for three or four years as an adjective to describe a hoped for number on the scale?  Are you nuts?

Guess what you were when you were in high school– a child!  You were still growing.  In high school I grew at least half a foot (15 cm) and went from 120 to 160 lbs (that’s 54 to 72 kg for the modern world using metric.)  And in college, I was still not entirely done with the growing thing.  I gained 20 more pounds and was hovering around 180 (81 kg.)

First of all, which number do I choose as my ‘high school skinny’ number?  120?  160?  Maybe move that number up to college and choose 180?  Or is it somewhere in between?  Currently at 31 years old and just about six feet tall (180 cm,) I’m pretty sure I would be diagnosed with an eating disorder if I aspired to only weigh 120 lbs.

The point is that in high school you were still a growing child.  No adult should ever try to hold themselves to a number that was attained only in their pubescence.  That was just a mark on the ruler; a stop on the map- it was not the destination and never should be considered as such.

You can Google that phrase and find the product that is discussed in the advertisement.  But I won’t be linking to their website here.  Not only is it for a supposedly miracle pill, but it’s not FDA approved.  However it’s GRAS (Generally Recognized as Safe) thanks to a loophole called the Federal Food, Drug and Cosmetic Act.

And while I’m on the subject of the radio and things that get under my skin, I’m not feeling Shady Grove Fertility’s recent advertisement for egg donors.  I tried to find a link to some audio for the ad, but no luck.  And it might seem petty of me right now, but as a woman who might consider using Shady Grove’s services in the future, their egg donor solicitation really burns me up.

The ad begins with some light, baby friendly music.  The wording starts with something like, “Because of you, another woman will get to feel a tiny baby foot kick her in the ribs.”  And it ends with a message that donors will be compensated for their donation.

For me, the infertile woman who would possibly take this theoretical donor’s eggs, the whole ad smacks of falseness.  They are concentrating on the end result of a healthy pregnancy brought on through IVF treatments in the infertile woman.  But I know what I’ve been through to try to force my uncooperative body to ovulate.  And the pinching, the pricks, the suppositories, the blood work and the trans vaginal ultrasounds are no picnic.  Now you try to convince women “21 to 32” to donate their ovum to this cause with a 30 second radio ad that in no way touches on all these procedures.  Who am I to be upset at their misleading 30 second radio ad?

I guess I’m just jaded.  Maybe that is the correct way to lure donors their way.  But I feel like it doesn’t even come close to preparing them for the actual ordeal.  But I suppose if they are interested and contact the fertility center, they will eventually learn all the things to come and can make their own informed choices.

But if I were in charge, this would be my egg donor radio ad:

“A grateful woman thanks you in advance for a pregnancy that was mixed up in a lab and shot into her with your borrowed ovum.  But before we get to that part, know that if you are 21 to 32 years old we want your eggs.  But only if you’re a high school graduate.  And you don’t have any ghastly diseases running in your family such as high blood pressure, diabetes, or any other highly prevalent disorder.  And you can’t be a smoker or even drink during the process.  And you’ll have to undergo a lot of physical exams that are time consuming and often painful.  Not to mention the injections you’ll have to give yourself at home.  When actual harvesting time comes, I think they’ll give you general anesthesia  but I’m not sure.  On top of that you might start to feel like a broodmare- probably because the doctors will treat you as such.  But oh yeah, you will be compensated.  Like $6000- but only if we actually get some viable eggs out of you.  Which might possibly maybe cover a portion of one semester of college courses.  So totally call us, and we’ll get you started on a long process in which you may or may not see any green at the end.”

Finally, don’t call me sweetie.  Especially if you’re a man.  Especially if you’re a man who is working on my car.  Just don’t.  That is all.

*UPDATE*

Just got a follow up courtesy call from the dealership.  I lodged a compliant about the mechanic who called me sweetie and other disrespectful things.  Apparently I’m not the only one who complained.  He seemed to think he was addressing a 7 year old wearing a fairy princess costume.

He was mistaken.