COMMERCIAL BREAK, AND ALL’S WELL

I was watching a beer commercial during a televised baseball game (you can’t watch a ballgame without seeing a beer commercial), and it got me thinking some more about commercials and life.

How splendid it would be if we could live according to the laws of commercials, if Madison Avenue were playing straight with us, if the answers to life’s nagging problems were available from the shelves of our neighborhood supermarkets.

Plunk down a few bucks and get instant happiness.

That would have helped last week when some workmen installed a new floor in our house. They stayed four days, cutting planks with an electric saw, covering the inside of the house with a thick film of wood dust that had us wheezing and coughing. Then, after finishing the job, they tipped over a can of dark stain on the way out, splattering the front walk with large, ugly blotches. We were distraught.

Not to worry, though, if this were commercialdom. I would have mollified my wife and 16-year-old daughter by marching them outside to the patio. We would have sat there in our hard hats until late evening, drinking frosty beer after beer, silhouetted against an orange sky, having a sparkling family debate about the meaning of life and hops:

“Tastes great!”

“Less filling!”

We would settle back and watch the dust in the house slowly settle on the furniture and the wood shavings pile up on the carpet. And then I would contentedly observe, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” Life would definitely be more livable as a character in a commercial.

If my daughter complained that her social life was on the skids, I would look her square in the eye and say, “Hon, let’s take a look at those shoulders. Just as I suspected--dandruff. Be smart, hon, use Head & Shoulders and wash away those flakes.” She would return the next day and tell me, “Hey, Dad, you were right, as always. I used Head & Shoulders last night and now my phone is ringing off the hook.”

“Now let’s have a look at those teeth,” I would add. “Hey, pumpkin, if you want those calls to continue, better do something about that smile. What did I tell you about using the toothpaste with the brighteners and whiteners? Get to it, young lady.”

Many a day my wife comes home from the office complaining about having a rough day with clients. I’d know how to put a smile on that face if we were characters in a commercial.

“Sweetie,” I’d say, winking at the camera, “a friend of mine at the office was losing all her friends until she discovered her problem was . . . bad breath .” Then I’d strategically place a bottle of Scope in her bag and let nature take its course.

For good measure, I’d surprise her with a present (the kind of nice thing that you do for someone you love), a jar of Porcelana Skin Cream to eliminate those awful brown age spots that will plague her when she gets older.

That would give her a big lift. But if it didn’t, I’d sit her down for a heart-to-heart about her dishwashing liquid.

“Getting a lot of rejections, sweetie? What about those gnarled dishwater hands? Look! You use your old brand, and I’ll use Ivory Liquid.”

Five minutes later: “My goodness,” my wife would say, “my hands are so rough and red, and yours are so smooth and silky. If I use Ivory Liquid, I’ll be so happy.”

“And you’ll be my favorite career gal again,” I’d add.

My own career also would flourish if I lived my life in a commercial. Maybe a colleague at the office would give me the word.

“My readership has fallen way off and most of my mail is highly critical. I can’t understand it.”

“Hey, pal, let’s have a look at that shirt. Just as I thought--ring around the collar. Here, try my Wisk.”

A week later. “That Wisk really worked. My collars are the brightest white, and everyone is wild about my column. And it got rid of my acid stomach, too.”

Wouldn’t it be swell, also, if real-life couples mirrored a few of those twosomes in commercials, allowing you and your spouse to drop all romantic pretense? Shirley Jones does a commercial for crackers that she says her husband, Marty Ingels, loves. The doorbell rings and she says to the camera: “There’s Marty now.”

Is that rich? They’ve been married for years and she still hasn’t given him his own house key.

I’d love it even more if she would add: “I’m doing a commercial now, Marty. Come back later.”

Tastes great. Less filling.