Dr. B's waiting room is handsome and personal. There's a glass-front case full of his grandfather's old-fashioned medical instruments and text books. Framed photos of mountains and rivers and ski slopes point to Dr. B's leisure pursuits, and on this visit there's a book of New Yorker cartoons on the coffee table in the corner. An inscription inside says something clever about Dr. B's intelligent wit.
Every year it's the same drill. Dr. B opens the waiting room door, says he's so glad to see me, and ushers me into the examining room. And every year we have this exchange:
Cathy: I want my skin to look like yours.
Dr. B: Are you wearing sunscreen?
I am not at all convinced that Dr. B has flawless skin because he wears sunscreen, no matter how many different brands of it he has on the ledge above his antique writing desk. But knowing him, he probably started protecting his skin at a very young age. I was busy frying my skin with cocoa butter and baby oil back then, which is why I go to the dermatologist now.
Anyway, after inspecting me head to toe, Dr. B sat back in his grandfather's chair that matches his desk, took off his huge black magnifying glasses, and said,
What have you been doing for skin care?
I was tempted to give him the old Washing with a mild cleanser and wearing sunscreen ruse, but I decided instead to get brave and go with the truth. I took a deep breath.
Truthfully? I've been sucked into the vortex of the Nordstrom
cosmetic department.
Oh no! he said, feigning surprise. Please, not that!
I insisted unconvincingly that most of my visits to the vortex have involved trying samples, but I also admitted that I've been on a rather expensive personal quest for the perfect eye cream. One that would eliminate dark circles, puffiness, and years. He must have heard this before because without missing a beat he said,
It's all a waste of money. There's only one thing that works.
Here, I'll give you a prescription.
I left Dr. B's handsome, personal office wondering if maybe I needed a 12-step program for vortex captives. I held a prescription in my hand for the only thing that works and it didn't feel satisfying at all. No subtly elegant packaging design, no marketing enticements, no free gifts or special Nordstrom scent. Nothing.
What I didn't tell Dr. B is that a couple of months ago one of the vortex companies sent me a sample of their eye cream. It was absolutely, totally perfect and I could buy it without a prescription. But when I went to order it online I discovered it cost $600 for a half ounce. Morgan wanted to know why the most expensive vortex company in the world knew my name and address. It does make one wonder. Maybe they knew about my quest and thought that sooner or later I would fall hook, line, and sinker for someone's ploys. Maybe they wanted to reel me in before anyone else snagged me. That's a scary thought.
On the way home from my appointment with Dr. B I stopped by a different vortex store at the mall, one that only sells cosmetics. As I walked up and down the aisles I saw women and men of all ages questing for beauty, and I realized my eye cream searching days had come to a quiet end. It was fun for a season, albeit a rather long, expensive, and mostly ineffective season. And sadly, after all the samples and wooing by the vortex, I somehow felt less beautiful than before. As I walked out of the store, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the mirrors and decided it was time to opt out of the vortex lie and enjoy being me. Set free.
Yay! Good for you. All a waste, for sure. And I look up to you as a woman who very beautiful inside and out.
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Go Cathy! What an insight-full person you are. Love to read you r work. With Love, ~ Nancy
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