Tuesday, January 3, 2012

Doctor Jones and the Fountain of Youth; Part I

    In September I got a gray hair--trust me I remember the moment VIVIDLY!
 
    In October, I got another gray hair, then something weird happened to my hip.  The doctor said I need to take care of it, or I could end up as an old lady who needs a hip replacement.  
    P. S. What the hell was that about?  I'm twenty-eight.  I don't want to hear about the hip replacement I'll need when I'm in diapers!
    Anyway, the doc made me realize, though; I won't live forever--shocker.

    In November, my two gray hairs got married and multiplied.  Then to top everything off, FIVE wrinkles decided to stay on my face--permanently.  I didn't notice them until my mother pulled me aside and sweetly said, "You're almost twenty-nine.  Now is the time to start taking care of your skin."
    Is twenty-nine the age of death or something?  Did I miss some vital piece of information.  I thought I was supposed to hold a funeral for myself when I turn thirty NOT twenty-nine.
    "Seriously?" I asked her.
    "Look is this mirror," she said and pulled out a mirror that made my nose look as big as my head.  "See those laughter-lines around your mouth--you've been smiling A LOT.  See those questioning lines on your forehead?"
    "Thanks, for this inspirational talk, Mom."  The Scribe and Hippie walked into the room at that point.  I wanted to smile at them, but I didn't--smiling made my wrinkles worse--I gave them a thumbs-up instead!  "So, what am I supposed to do about it, other than never use that mirror again?"
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    My mom studied me, tapped her cheek and nodded.  "I have just the thing."
    The Scribe, Hippie and I followed my mother like she was a mystical apothecary who lived in an ancient castle.
    "Ah.  That's it!" she said.  "This will keep you young."
    "What in the world . . . is that?" the Scribe asked, breathlessly.
    "Regenerating skin cream," I read.  "By Olay."
     "Oh, my gosh," the Hippie said.  "Olay!  It's practically magical."
    Later that night, the Scribe and Hippie whispered.  "Now we know grandma's secret!  We have to find that skin cream."

    To be continued tomorrow . . .