Jackie Papandrew

Depending on whether you’re a glass-half-full or glass-half-empty type of person, nothing can brighten up or ruin your day like receiving an unexpected package. I’m in the half-full category, so when such an item showed up at my door recently, I instantly began to imagine all the wonderful things that might be inside.

Perhaps a generous friend was sending me some expensive jewelry as a belated birthday gift. Perhaps I’d won some fabulous sweepstakes, and the package contained a $10 million check. (It could happen.) Perhaps it held a dozen roses from Brad Pitt, who’d fallen out of love with Angelina and was now infatuated with me. (Stop laughing -- it could happen.) With great anticipation, therefore, I opened the package with a steak knife. As I cleared away the shipping peanuts, the first words I saw written on the contents were “5-Day Detox.” Below that and in a much larger, bolder font, was the word “BOWEL.” That’s when my happy glass started to leak a bit. I doubt the word “bowel” has ever figured into any of my optimistic hopes and dreams.

Further inspection led to a medicine bottle labeled “Intestinal Formula #1” and an even larger bottle labeled, surprisingly, “Intestinal Formula #2.” My happy glass was now making a puddle on the floor.

The package also contained a book and, to really kick things off, a motivational DVD.

I checked the address label again. Sure enough, this delightful delivery was actually intended for me. But who in the world would send me a kit to “cleanse, detoxify and regulate my colon?” I generally don’t enjoy thinking about my colon, and it felt kind of creepy to know that someone else had given its current condition some serious thought.

Then I recalled a conversation I’d had just the other day with a very effervescent woman at my church. I don’t even know this woman very well, and yet I found myself listening as she described -- in excruciating detail -- how an intestinal purge had changed her life.

I had just managed to purge the mental picture she’d created from my mind when her package arrived. And sure enough, taped to the DVD was a note from this thoughtful (and apparently thoroughly detoxified) lady.

‘ You seemed really interested when we talked about this,’ the note said. ‘Give it a try!’

At first, I was a little, er, bummed out that this colon-cleansing advocate had somehow obtained my address. Then I wondered if I was such a good actor that I’d seemed genuinely interested in the process she so rapturously described. (If I am that good an actor, you’d better watch out, Angelina. Brad will probably be knocking on my door any day now.)

I have not yet decided to invigorate my intestines with the treatment. But I still have the bottles sitting in my bathroom. I giggle whenever I see them, the way pre-teen boys giggle over flatulence jokes. Maybe I’ll eventually give detoxification a try. Or maybe I’ll send the bottles to our government. I hear it has a lot of toxic assets that need cleansing.