When last we visited Bunny, she was happily following her diet day to day.

On Day 8, she was presented with a special treat at her office–the flakiest, yummiest apple pastry ever. She had one bite, savored it, then walked away. It was fabulous.

That’s the way it’s supposed to happen–enjoy one taste, then run for the hills. More often, of course, that one taste turns into an avalanche. But this time, Bunny did the right thing, and was happy about it.

The next morning, she woke to what she was waiting for: visible evidence that her weight loss efforts are working. A small but definitely noticeable shrinkage, just below, you should excuse the expression, the boobal regions.


PastryIt must have been the apple pastry, right?

Bunny is keeping on keeping on. She’s not perfect, but she’s doing pretty well. She hasn’t been able to go to the gym, partly because she’s been working like a dog, and partly because of a small bout with that flu-ey, runny, yucky tummy thing everybody seems to have. Mercifully, she didn’t get it nearly as badly as most people she knows.

It must have been the apple pastry, right?

So while we’re waiting for more palpable evidence that something on Bunny is, indeed, shrinking, let’s talk about drugs.

Specifically, medications that are advertised on TV. You know, the ones that will resolve something annoying by replacing it with something potentially life-threatening.

Your hands will be silky soft, but you will probably have a stroke or three.

Your muscles won’t be so achy, but you’ll become radioactive.

Your nails will be strong, but bubonic plague is imminent.

Yeah. Those.

Bunny has been waking up in the early morning hours to an ad for LipsyDoodle.

Or something like that.

It claims to be the miracle cure for belly fat. Just take this drug, and your fat will dissolve without any effort on your part other than writing a check.

Ugh!Now, call us cynical, but it seems to us that if a medication was truly the magic bullet for belly fat, you’d hear about it somewhere other than an early-morning infomercial on a rerun of The Golden Girls.

We’ve been reading up on belly fat lately (remember our article on the always-attractive menopot?), and the cure boils down to all the usual suspects: whole grains, fruits, veggies, fewer calories, and exercise.

Sorry, LipsyDoodle. We don’t believe you. We wish we did. But we suspect that if we buy your little miracle med, something unsuspected will happen that you either don’t know about or don’t want to tell us–like our toes will fall off, or we’ll turn into a vampire, or our head will explode. Or maybe something less interesting, like it will destroy a heart valve or two. No thanks.

Maybe apple pastry would work?