In the pioneer days, and I must admit most of my research came from watching “Little House on the Prairie,” the trip to the store was a pretty straightforward thing. First of all, there was no stopping by Walgreen’s to pick up something on the way home. If a wife told her husband to run by Walgreen’s back in the pioneer days, it was tantamount to telling him to get lost because not only would her headache be gone by the time he got back, but the kids would be grown and she would have had at least two other husbands. Trips to the store happened about twice a year for many pioneers. They would load up on things like grain, salt, seed, corn, molasses and cloth. What they did not purchase were things like lighted bras and talking urinal cakes, which fortunately are the topics of today’s discussion.

While you were busy last week reading about the snowstorm in the Northeast, or the astronaut who taught us all how to drive from Houston to Florida without taking a potty break, some interesting news items crossed my desk. Because of the kind of people who read this column, those items are seldom about news events like global warming or congressional hearings. No, they are usually about things like lighted bras.

One alert reader actually sent me a link to a website which displayed, in living color (www.enlighted.com/nervebra.shtml) the newest trend in foundational fashion for ladies who want to be noticed – from distances of up to a mile. The “nervebra,” so named because, let’s face it, you’d have to have a lot of nerve to put one on, features an intricate pattern of flashing, multi-colored lights, which flash in several sequences depending upon your mood, I suppose. What the website does not divulge, is exactly what occasion this particular undergarment is appropriate for. I can imagine a few that it would not be appropriate for, such as the boardroom. “Mrs. Salinksy, are you wishing to contribute to the discussion, or are you just experiencing a fireworks display in your blouse?” The company in question here, Enlighted, wants you to know that it didn’t stop at the bra. It has multi-colored light displays for just about any garment, including an entire suit. They just highlighted (no pun intended) the bra because it was apparently the perfect gift for Valentine’s Day (see last week’s column). Ours is supposed to be here in time for the big day. I guessing it will go into that drawer that ladies keep for all the Valentine’s outfits their husbands give them. At least this one will stand out.

The point of this column, if there had been one, is that we have come a long way since the pioneer days when we had just enough money to spend on the basics, and perhaps a piece of hard candy for Christmas. I’m not yearning to go back to those times, mind you. I have grown quite fond of indoor plumbing for instance, but if pioneers heard about some of the things we classify as “must haves,” they would laugh so hard that they’d spew their tepid, curdling milk through their nostrils.

Speaking of indoor plumbing (I did, didn’t I?), news outlets all over the country reported on yet another newly developed device that not only puts the lighted bra to shame, but has a public safety use as well. If you guessed, talking urinal cakes, you are not only right, but you should seek the care of a mental health professional immediately. That’s right – talking urinal cakes. According to KOAT in Santa Fe, The State of New Mexico, which apparently has a drinking problem, has ordered this nifty invention to place in bars so that when male patrons make that last pit stop before hitting the highway, they can be reminded verbally by the urinal cake, that they should not drink and drive. Two thoughts spring to mind.

First, I’m not sure we want to place a guy with a snoot full in a situation where he hears a urinal cake speaking to him. Although it might cause some people to wisely quit drinking right there and then, it might also push some over the edge. Secondly, I would love to be at the talking urinal cake company, where they had such high hopes for their invention several years ago, only to find that there was really no demand for conversational toilet parts. I picture the last true believer sitting in a wrinkly suit in a warehouse by the telephone with dusty boxes of talking urinal cakes stacked all around him when finally, the call comes in. “Hey, this is New Mexico. You still have those talking urinal cakes? We’ll take 500 off your hands.” You got to love progress.