In search of a good body repairman and mechanic

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GIBSONBURG -- The Ford and I need work. It needs an oil change; I need
a miracle.

Fords, fortunately, are easier to maintain than folks. An oil change
is what? Twenty-five bucks?

Miracles, I'm pretty sure, cost a whole lot more than that, and so
far, I haven't been able to schedule one at Tri-Motors. I asked last
time I was over there, but they refuse to do body work on anything
with feet.

The other evening, as an excuse for not working, I made one of those
"Things to do today" lists. It was extensive.

Buried in between "Dig the garbage can lid out of the ice" and "Do
something about your eyebrows," I managed to slip in one word:
"Teeth."

A couple of months ago, I decided to have my teeth whitened -- and
promptly forgot about it since I very seldom see my teeth -- except
when I'm at dinner with a friend and begin to suspect there might be a
wad of spinach stuck between them.

My friend, Jeanne, had her teeth whitened by a dentist, and the
results were, at best, disappointing. Her teeth didn't come out any
whiter and her gums were sore for a month.

Another friend is scheduled for a "whitening" but hasn't been there
yet.

Feeling left out and not wanting anyone I know to get ahead of me in
the "youthful beauty contest," I decided to give my village dentist a
ring and ask what were the chances of having my white-walls restored.
A friendly machine told me he wasn't in today so my restoration is on
hold.

Vioxx, I want you to know, has been good to me, and I had begun to
equate it with Pennzoil. The noticeable difference, of course, is
obvious. Pennzoil is not recommended to be swallowed each morning with
breakfast.

Pennzoil, when taken internally (by the Ford) makes everything move
more easily and pretty much eliminates the possibility of a seize-up
on a lonely country road after dark.

Same thing Vioxx did for me.

Then the unthinkable happened -- a Ford had a heart attack. No, wait a
minute -- that was Edsel.

It was people who began having heart attacks, and next thing I knew,
some numbers crunchers began to tie Vioxx into the picture. Bingo! My
happy pills became contraband.

Even though I'm not heart attack prone, my Vioxx is gone. I'm left
with only the memories of happier times when I could move faster than
a speeding bullet and leap tall buildings in a single bound.

Anyway, the problem is that my joints and I are in a standoff -- one
that I am still determined to win. Something will come along to ease
the pain of age (other than a firing squad), and then there'll be no
more having to put one hand on the floor when I'm stuck in a squat at
the canned goods shelf in the corner market.

Back when I was a rambunctious kid, everything worked painlessly, and
was I clever enough to appreciate it? Certainly not. All I wanted to
be was grown up.

Now I am. And now I appreciate the veracity of the old saying ... "be
careful what you wish for ..."

So here I go again. Already there are new face creams on the bathroom
shelf (day and night), and a bottle of some stuff guaranteed to give
my lips that newly weaned look.

Beside my favorite chair is a basket of beauty aids. All I had to do
was reach out to reclaim my "bud of youth" -- but I'd forgotten they
were there until a couple of days ago when I discovered one of my cats
burying stolen oyster crackers in it.

Clean-out time.

It was like Christmas. I uncovered a stash of body butter that
Cleopatra would have drooled over and enough cream to have rendered
the entire Russian army hand-holding ready.

I found an empty tube of Burt's Foot Creme (good stuff), two bottles
of cuticle remover, a lifetime supply of Vitamin E cream, a tube of
eye cream and some Jell-O kind of stuff that is dabbed under the eyes
to suck up the bags. It works fine unless you take a notion to blink
or laugh; this has a tendency to melt down the application.

At the very bottom was an empty pot of Lippy Lime lip balm -- also
good stuff. But it's green.

Beauty products ought to be more careful of the results they promise
for a single bottle of anything -- whether it's vitamins or
encapsulated yak urine. Also, when a label pledges to take 10 years
off of my life -- I want reassurance they're talking retroactive.

And so now it is with great sorrow that I bury my trove of dead beauty
products (that did not work) along with my last empty Vioxx bottle
(that DID work). All good friends -- while they lasted.

But I'm not giving up.

Elizabeth Schuett writes for Cox News Service. Mail: 320 W. Madison,
Gibsonburg, Ohio 43431 or email: eschuett@woh.rr.com.

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Originally published Monday, February 28, 2005



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