We can't go out tonight," I'm tempted to say to my husband on a daily basis. "They're going to be doing a story about a plant whose DNA may contain the key to curing cancer." While watching TV at the gym each morning, I'm sucked into what they're promising to reveal that night. There are three popular categories: a major medical break-through, an administration blunder or a celebrity mishap. The latter I can ignore, but the others make me wish we didn't have tickets for Jersey Boys or a dinner plan.

"TIVO it," is Martin's solution. He doesn't get sucked in the way I do. We never stay up to watch it that night and by the next day, it's clear that Sloan-Kettering and the administration haven't shut their doors. We erase what I recorded to make room for tomorrow's hot announcement.

I'm embarrassed, both because I'm old enough to know better and a New Yorker, that I'm so gullible. Not only am I seduced by these news story teases, but I believe infomercials. Make-up you buy directly from Victoria Principal will, I'm sure, do more to improve my skin than anything sold at Sephora or CVS.

While driving a rental car in LA, I pulled over to call in an order for liquid vitamins being touted on the radio as entering the bloodstream immediately, so an improvement over the sluggish multi I'd been taking because. When I told the friend I was staying with that I was about to become more energetic, expecting she'd want me to order these mega-vitamins for her, she looked concerned and asked, "Could you be bi-polar?"

I've managed to restrain myself from buying an Oreck Vacuum promoted on TV only because, try as I have, I can find no fault with our Miehle. But I did flick on the light last week to get the number off the TV screen for "Direct Buy", which held out the promise of becoming a member and getting wholesale prices. It was only after arranging the appointment that I googled them to find out the membership fee is $5,000, which they'd refused to disclose on the phone.

The lesson I never seem to learn is, "Don't believe everything you hear". And I should have gotten it in my 20's from guys who said, "I'll call you during the week".

Learn more about this author, Sybil Sage.
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