Another way I get in trouble

is late-night TV shopping. For this one, I have no one to blame but myself.

See, sometime in the middle of the night, usually around 2:00 to 3:00, I typically take a break and watch one DVD episode of some TV show. That limits the break to about 44 minutes, after which I either crash with a relaxed brain or return to work a bit refreshed. (The show currently on tap is season 2 of Saving Grace.)

Before I could get TV shows on DVD, however, I would sometimes watch whatever happened to be on. Late-night shows are full of ads, many of them with toll-free numbers, and that's when my trouble begins.

One real example: An ad appears for Sports Illustrated. I wasn't subscribing to it, and it sure looked good to my middle-of-the-night brain. Still, I was resisting it, until the announcer explained that if I would call right now, and if I would sign up for just six months of SI, I would get a sneakerphone! Childhood memories of Get Smart crashed through me. I have a big house; we can always use another phone. And a sneakerphone! Come on, who could resist that?

So, I picked up the phone, called the operator, gave her my credit-card number, and, boom! I was on my way to being the proud owner of a sneakerphone.

It did arrive, by the way, and I learned a great and terrible truth about the sneakerphone: It sucks! It's a lousy phone, and it's nowhere near as much fun to hold a sneaker up against your face as you (well, I) might think.

Another example: It's 4:30 in the morning many, many years ago. I'm on a break, watching TV. An ad for Rolling Stone appears. I liked RS and had even subscribed briefly. This deal, the announcer explained, was a great one: sign up for two years, and pay only half the cover price! Good enough for me. I called, ready to pay. The operator explained that though two years was indeed a good deal, three years lowered my per-issue cost even more. Sure, I said, sign me up! Sensing a real fish, the operator led me from year to year, showing me greater and greater discounts, and each time, with increasing glee as I contemplated my growing stack of savings, I said, yes!

By the end of the call, I was the proud owner of a seven-year Rolling Stone subscription at a cost something like a dime an issue.

At least that purchase was one I used.

Don't even get me started about the pirate shirt--which I assure you made good sense at the time.

And never let me watch TV ads with toll-free numbers after two a.m.