I've got a stone

As I was doing my Tracy Anderson this morning, and listening to her say the same things for the maybe three hundredth time, Gus, who was lying on the bed and watching her, (his form of entertainment perhaps) , asked why I didn't just turn the volume off and listen to music, and I explained that when you are not watching the screen, you need to listen to ques for the next move. Then, he asked why I didn't write a letter and complain to her because she said that my arms would be "teeny tiny and long and lean", and they aren't.
I know my face got red, or redder, and I told him to get out of my room; okay I yelled at him to get out of my room. Then I finished up and was gratefully distracted as I composed my more appropriate response to his comment.
When I told Gus, the purpose of my following this regime had little to do with how I looked and mostly everything to do with how I felt, he explained further that he just didn't understand why people can claim that what they are selling will actually work like they say it will. I told him that it's not the people selling the stuff, but the one's buying it who have to at least know that they are banking on something that isn't real or that the product will not work for them the way it does on the telly; his response, "obviously".