On Christmas Day, I was sitting in the movie theater with my family, watching the uninterrupted string of commercials that now replaces the silence and hushed whispers that once preceded the movie trailers. A BOD Man commercial appeared on the screen. A heavily tattooed, yet attractive, young woman drags her hand across the chest of what must surely be a computer generated image of a perfectly sculpted male form. She casts a sultry look in Apollo’s direction and then disappears behind a curtain.
Kellie turned to me with a look that seemed to ask, “What the hell happened to your body?” I wanted to remind her that my squat, five-foot-six frame never looked anything like the BOD Man induced delusions she was now experiencing. Her questioning expression gave way to a wry smile as she suggested, “Maybe we should spray some of that stuff on you and see what happens?”
Before I could tell her that I doubted it would produce the desired effect, my 21 year-old daughter, Jordin, shouts out, “It will be a Christmas Miracle.”
I love my family.
