Gimme a break, gimme a break, the advertising jingles are jangling creases in my cranium.

I popped awake the other morning in mid-jingle:

“Fat kids, skinny kids / Kids who climb on rocks / Tough kids, sissy kids / Even kids with chicken pox.”

My bride blinked. “Why are you singing about hot dogs at…” she reached for the clock. Her eyes did a “Snap, Crackle, Pop / Rice Krispies” thing. “… three in the morning? Are you insane?”

“C’mon, sing with me!”

“You’re going to need some armor if you don’t shut up and snore.”

My brain switched channels. I fluffed my pillow and crooned: “I’d like to teach the world to sing / In perfect harmony / I’d like to hold it in my arms / And keep it company.”

“Go keep the cat company.” Terry pulled her pillow over her head. “Maybe she’ll appreciate middle-of-the-night commercials.”

“Good idea. Let’s see, if I remember correctly, the lyrics go something like this: ‘Meow, meow, meow, meow / Meow, meow, meow, meow / meow, meow, meow, meow…'”

Terry planted her foot in my back and pushed me out of bed. I clanged my arm against the bedside table — which tinkled loose another jingle: “I am stuck on Band-Aid brand / ’cause Band-Aid’s stuck on me / ‘Cause they hold on tight no matter what / On fingers, toes and knees / I am stuck on Band-Aid brand, ’cause Band-Aid helps heal me.”

As I jigged out the bedroom, I swear I heard Terry jingling: “Plop, plop / Fizz, fizz / Oh, what a relief it is.”

I’ve been infected by earworms before, but usually, it’s something crazy like the Barney the Dinosaur theme or that never-ending string of the la-la-las that close out the Andy Gibb song “(Love Is) Thicker Than Water.”

Not now. Those earworms have left. They’ll be right back after these words from our sponsors:

“You deserve a break today / So get up and get away…”

But I can’t get away. Sixty-some years worth of jingles are twirling around my brain.

Jingles have twirled around my brain for more than 60 years now, and they’re tired of being cooped up in such a tiny space. They’re spilling out in 4/4 time — or 3/4 time — all the time.

“What walks downstairs / Alone or in pairs / And makes a slinkity sound? / A spring, a spring, a marvelous thing! / Everyone knows it’s Slinky. / It’s Slinky, it’s Slinky / It’s fun, it’s a wonderful toy.”

A jumble of jingles chimed in such a flurry that they began to squish together in a greatest hits medley:

“I’m a big kid now… / I’m a pepper, he’s a pepper, she’s a pepper, we’re a pepper, wouldn’t you like to be a pepper too? … / They’re magically delicious… / Two all-beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun… / Like a good neighbor… / The best part of waking up…”

A not-so-jingly voice clapped: “GO TO SLEEP!”

I tip-toed back to the bedroom, crawled under the covers and sank into my pillow. I couldn’t help it. I hummed: “I wish I were an Oscar Mayer Weiner / That is what I truly wish to be / ‘Cause if I were a Oscar Mayer Weiner / Everyone would be in love with me.”

Commercial break over, I slept, finally jingle-jangle-free.

• Take a commercial break with Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com, the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook or www.burtonwcole.com.