My facial cleanser was recalled by the manufacturer. When it started disappearing from drugstore shelves, I consulted the company’s website. The reason for the recall: when the product sat, it would congeal, resulting in a higher concentration of active ingredient than what the label specified.
No wonder it worked so well! My skin was so clear. I’m not worried about what the preachy old FDA has to say about it. I want my soap back.
Now that it has been discontinued, my face looks like it did in 1988. Oh, joy. Do you want a hot investment tip? Buy stock in concealer.
It’s not just the cleanser. My entire beauty routine (minimal as it is) has been under assault lately. Perhaps it’s a conspiracy. Even before the face soap fiasco, my makeup was discontinued. They still make the formulation, but not in my shade. It’s oil control, for goodness sake. I need the stuff.
All my adult life, I planned on becoming one of those old ladies who has used the same brand, and shade, of makeup for 50 years. Alas, this is not to be. So much for product loyalty. My products are not very loyal to me, it seems.
The above instances are enough to make me want to stockpile hoards of every product I’ve come to rely on. But there’s something I can’t stockpile: people. Shortly after I recovered from the makeup trauma, my hairstylist announced an early retirement. Now, I know it wasn’t my hair that made her want to give up her career. I’m very low maintenance. But my hair is curly, and Jane really knew what to do with curly hair.
I don’t know who to turn to. Since I hate getting my hair cut anyway – it seems like such a waste of time – and I am reluctant to go elsewhere, with Jane out of business my hair just grows and grows.
Hairstylists are liars, anyway, I’ve discovered. We’ve all been duped. They (the cosmetologists) want us to believe that the more we cut our hair, the longer it gets. If we want it to be long and luxurious, they proselytize, we must come in for regular trims. Sure, trimming cleans up the split ends, but let me let you in on a little secret: when you don’t get your hair cut, it grows even longer. Today I rolled mine up in the hose reel along with the garden hose. I’m like Rapunzel.
I still haven’t figured out what to do about the hair problem. I probably will need a hairstylist to trim my hair some time before my 89th birthday. Cutting it myself doesn’t go so well. Believe me, I’ve tried. I’m still okay with DIY color, but for how long? All this beauty trauma is causing my gray hairs to multiply exponentially.
As if I wasn’t suffering enough with my unruly (and untrimmed) hair, now I have to deal with the whole face soap fiasco. It pains me to think that there are surely cases of the recalled cleanser sitting in some warehouse somewhere, congealing to maximum efficacy. The longer it sits, the better it gets, I’ll bet. Pretty soon it’ll be the drugstore equivalent of a chemical peel. If I could get my hands on some I’d definitely buy a lifetime supply.
They say a woman’s beauty routine gets more complicated as she gets older. Not in my case. I’m crossing things off left and right. What’s next? Will they stop making my toothpaste?
There are only so many things “us girls” can rebound from, only so many products we can find replacements for or eliminate. After that, our lives in public are over. As for me, I’ll be okay until they discontinue my concealer. At that point I’ll probably have to become a recluse and live out my days in the confines of my home. Goodbye, world, I’ll blog, which, along with e-mail and Facebook, will be my only portals to the rest of humanity. They stopped making Cover Girl Invisible Concealer in “Fair.” It’s been nice knowing you.