Mirror mirror on the wall, what the heck happened? This is not what adulthood looked like in the brochure!

I’ve reached the age where looking in the mirror is like checking the news. I know there will be some new developments I won’t like: crows feet, new wrinkles, more white hair. Actually, that’s not quite the truth. While I don’t spend long in front of the mirror — I have never given my wrinkles more than a cursory glance — they are just smile memories, character lines. They define my journey — although recently that journey has been bombarded by expensive skin care products.

“What do you use for your daily skin care routine?” queried a persistent salesperson.

“Baby wipes, bull grease and sweat.” I grinned.

She looked horrified. “On your face?”

I smiled. “Arms, legs, face—wherever.”

While she was racking her brain to decide what sales tactic is supposed to follow that response, I quickly made my escape.

The next time, however, I wasn’t so successful. At a dinner party, I found myself trapped at a corner table with an extremely persuasive multi-level salesperson. No matter where the conversation went, she adeptly steered it back to the skin care product she was selling. Guaranteed to lessen wrinkles, tighten your skin, make it less puffy, clear up age spots — basically work miracles — which it should for the price.

“I don’t mind wrinkles,” I laughed. “I don’t even own an iron — why should my face get more special treatment than my clothes? Although climbing in the dryer with a wet washcloth and coming out wrinkle-free and three sizes smaller doesn’t sound too bad.”

Usually sarcasm is my life ring out of these situations, but this salesperson didn’t even blink. When the other two people at the table pulled out their credit cards, I tried to sneak away. But a well placed hand on my arm and suddenly I felt a guilty obligation to open my wallet and purchase my very own bottle of miracles.

Several weeks later, our family was curled up in front of the TV, eating popcorn and watching “The Andy Griffith Show.” Opie and his friends were trying to sell a miracle salve that didn’t work. Barney decides to help Opie get his money back by pretending to be Dr. Pendyke, DVM, who wants to buy all the salve the company can get back — because it cures “the mange.”

“Why look at that,” my husband poked me in the ribs and, in the falsetto voice of Dr. Pendyke, began, “Look here at this miracle salve. For the low price of the cost of an airline ticket, you can buy this cream that will do nearly everything — it even cures the mange!”

I rolled my eyes and tried to ignore him. But it was hopeless.

As if being suckered in to buying the expensive “miracle salve” wasn’t enough, my husband made sure to poke fun every chance he got. If he saw me going to bed at night without putting it on, he appeared horrified.

“Oh no!” he would exclaim. “I think I see new wrinkles! Maybe we need to get you more miracle salve to stop them!” Or he saw me apply it, he would sigh with exaggerated relief. “I am so glad you are putting that cream on. I thought I detected a hint of mange yesterday! Oh, come on, laugh,” he snickered. “That was hilarious!”

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m laughing on the inside — so I don’t get more wrinkles,” I snorted, as I threw the bottle of miracle salve at him.

Recently, we were enjoying the sun on the white, sandy beaches of the Caribbean — perhaps a little too much, as our noses were peeling a bit. One afternoon while downtown, a well-dressed young man stepped out of a beauty shop. “It looks as if you could use some skin care,” he smiled, and I self-consciously touched my peeling nose. “Come, try a free sample.”

I thought he had meant for my peeling skin, but before I had fully comprehended the situation, the young man was applying serum to one of my eyes. “Your skin could be so beautiful. It just needs a little extra care,” he smiled. “Don’t worry,” my sarcasm defended, “my other face is in the photoshop.”

He looked at me curiously, but totally missed my sarcasm as he held up a mirror and exclaimed, “Wow, wow! Just look at that difference. Why, you look at least 15 years younger!”

I looked in the mirror. One eye looked tired and puffy. The other eye looked tired and puffy and covered in a sticky goop.

My husband smirked at me, but before he could make even one silent miracle salve reference, the young man had smeared the serum on one of his eyes too. “Look at that! You see that? Wonderful, amazing! And 10 years younger without a surgical face lift!”

I looked at my husband’s face. Bright raccoon eyes from his sunglasses were very visible, but try as I might, I couldn’t see any difference where the gloppy serum was. “All these beautiful results for only $1,099!”

My lips twitched up — a thousand dollar cure for the mange. The young man mistook my smile for approval. “Would you like a bottle for each of you?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I don’t know, honey, Dr. Pendyke has us on a pretty strict skin care regimen of baby wipes, bull grease and sweat.”

We backed up, trying to retreat. The young man started after us, and we practically tripped over ourselves to get away.

My husband laughed as I began smearing the sticky goop off my eye, and in Dr. Pendyke’s falsetto said, “Amazing, just amazing. Not only do you look 15 years younger, but I think you finally got rid of the mange!”

Brianna Walker occasionally writes about the Farmer’s Fate for the Blue Mountain Eagle.