hands, so you end up with dry, cracked skin? Well, guess what? You don’t ever have to think about it again. Take a look at this.” And she presented an item called RemoteControLotion, a universal remote control unit that not only operated most televisions, VCRs, and stereo systems, but dispensed moisturizing hand lotion through tiny pores on each of the buttons. To demonstrate the unit, Leigh aimed the device at the television directly across from the bed, which instantly popped to life, displaying a Sellevision logo. “I’ve just pressed ‘on’ and already, lotion has been released onto my fingers.”
Cut to a close up of Leigh rubbing lotion between her thumb and index finger. “See?” she asked viewers.
Cut to medium shot. “Now, I can have soft, smooth skin by doing nothing more than being the couch potato that I already am.”
Within two minutes, RemoteControLotion sold out and Leigh crossed her pajama-clad legs and moved on to the next product. “How many of you have ever dreamed of owning a hand-crafted cuckoo clock but thought you could never afford one?”
After her Slumber Sunday show, Leigh headed back to her office. She picked up her phone and dialed Max’s number. His machine answered. “Hi Max, it’s Leigh. I’m just calling to wish you good luck in case you check your messages before the interview. I’m sure you’ll do great. Call me when it’s over and let me know how it went.”
Then Leigh caught up on her E-mail.
“B
oys, make sure you wear your red ties,” Peggy Jean called down the hallway toward her sons’ rooms. Then, to her husband who was in the process of knotting a blue tie around his neck, “Sweetheart, please ,” she said, touching him on the elbow with her Honey Desert fingernail. “The boys are wearing their red ties. Wear your red tie, too. I like us to look like a family .” Peggy Jean was wearing a simple navy suit with a red scarf tied loosely around the neck.
Her husband sighed loudly. “Fine,” he grumbled and unknotted the tie, tossed it onto the bed, and walked to the closet to retrieve the red tie.
Peggy Jean adored Sundays because dressing up and going to church gave her family the chance to be together and do something wholesome that everyone enjoyed. And that particular Sunday was especially important, given her medical problems. The fact that she had not yet heard back from her doctor worried her. There was something her doctor was not telling her, she just knew it. “Shoot!” she cried. She brought her finger to her mouth and began sucking on it. “I pricked myself with my crucifixion pin. See what happens when I get worried? You’d think I would have heard something from the doctor by now.”
John slid his eyes over toward his wife and smirked as he secured the red tie in place. “You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” she shrieked. “I most certainly am not overreacting . This could be a serious medical condition, I may need hormone therapy .”
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
In the car, with her husband driving and the three boys in the backseat, Peggy Jean quizzed them on last week’s sermon. “Do you boys remember what nice Father Quigley spoke of last week, hmmmmm?”
The boys looked at each other, then at their mother’s face, which was reflected in the vanity mirror on the visor. They said nothing.
“You remember. He spoke of how important it is to forgive people, even when we feel that they have done or said something we don’t feel we can forgive,” she said, picking a small clump of mascara from an eyelash. Then she glanced back at her sons. “Don’t you boys think that’s an important thing to remember?”
They nodded their heads in unison, as if on cue.
“I think it’s important, too,” she said, snapping the cover of the vanity mirror closed and putting the visor back in place. She turned to her husband. “Sweetheart, there’s no need to drive so fast, we have plenty of time.”
He glanced at the
Cut to a close up of Leigh rubbing lotion between her thumb and index finger. “See?” she asked viewers.
Cut to medium shot. “Now, I can have soft, smooth skin by doing nothing more than being the couch potato that I already am.”
Within two minutes, RemoteControLotion sold out and Leigh crossed her pajama-clad legs and moved on to the next product. “How many of you have ever dreamed of owning a hand-crafted cuckoo clock but thought you could never afford one?”
After her Slumber Sunday show, Leigh headed back to her office. She picked up her phone and dialed Max’s number. His machine answered. “Hi Max, it’s Leigh. I’m just calling to wish you good luck in case you check your messages before the interview. I’m sure you’ll do great. Call me when it’s over and let me know how it went.”
Then Leigh caught up on her E-mail.
“B
oys, make sure you wear your red ties,” Peggy Jean called down the hallway toward her sons’ rooms. Then, to her husband who was in the process of knotting a blue tie around his neck, “Sweetheart, please ,” she said, touching him on the elbow with her Honey Desert fingernail. “The boys are wearing their red ties. Wear your red tie, too. I like us to look like a family .” Peggy Jean was wearing a simple navy suit with a red scarf tied loosely around the neck.
Her husband sighed loudly. “Fine,” he grumbled and unknotted the tie, tossed it onto the bed, and walked to the closet to retrieve the red tie.
Peggy Jean adored Sundays because dressing up and going to church gave her family the chance to be together and do something wholesome that everyone enjoyed. And that particular Sunday was especially important, given her medical problems. The fact that she had not yet heard back from her doctor worried her. There was something her doctor was not telling her, she just knew it. “Shoot!” she cried. She brought her finger to her mouth and began sucking on it. “I pricked myself with my crucifixion pin. See what happens when I get worried? You’d think I would have heard something from the doctor by now.”
John slid his eyes over toward his wife and smirked as he secured the red tie in place. “You’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting?” she shrieked. “I most certainly am not overreacting . This could be a serious medical condition, I may need hormone therapy .”
“Whatever,” he mumbled.
In the car, with her husband driving and the three boys in the backseat, Peggy Jean quizzed them on last week’s sermon. “Do you boys remember what nice Father Quigley spoke of last week, hmmmmm?”
The boys looked at each other, then at their mother’s face, which was reflected in the vanity mirror on the visor. They said nothing.
“You remember. He spoke of how important it is to forgive people, even when we feel that they have done or said something we don’t feel we can forgive,” she said, picking a small clump of mascara from an eyelash. Then she glanced back at her sons. “Don’t you boys think that’s an important thing to remember?”
They nodded their heads in unison, as if on cue.
“I think it’s important, too,” she said, snapping the cover of the vanity mirror closed and putting the visor back in place. She turned to her husband. “Sweetheart, there’s no need to drive so fast, we have plenty of time.”
He glanced at the
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