Searching for the Fountain of Youth

     I admit it: I’m vain

     Oh, I know I’m no beauty – more like the Beast. But in all honesty, I’m ordinary-looking. No one would pick me out of a crowd. On a good day, if the hair cooperates and the eyeliner on my lower lids goes on just right to make my grey eyes look a bit blue, I may even look nice.

     I’ve enjoyed looking younger than my actual age most of my life. But in the last five years, gravity has taken over. Wrinkles have taken command of my face. In the last year or two, I’ve noticed the left side of my face looks older than the right, the result of driver’s-side-window sun during the daily hour-long commute each way to and from work.
     The 25-year-old who lives inside this body now looks in the mirror in shock and thinks, “Oh, my Timelord! There’s an old woman in that mirror. Who the heck is she?”

     I am an eternal optimist. I really want to believe those too-good-to-be-true ads about skin creams that reverse the signs of aging giving one a youthful appearance. I’ve spent scads of money on the promise of regaining the face of my misspent youth, all to no avail.

     I’ve bought creams I didn’t believe in to help out friends or relatives who were trying to start up a business, more because I enjoy doing senseless acts of niceness, although I’d be better off supporting their Go-Fund-Me account for their next vacation. The result of most of these changes in my normal moisturizing regimen is a case of that scourge I never had as a teen: acne.

     I’m also a believer in that Judeo-Christian ethic called Karma. Perhaps if I help out friends and relatives with their skin creams, someday people will return the favor and buy my books.

     Not long ago, I again believed in a miracle face cream that promised youth in 30 days. It did look nice, and had no scent. The texture was rich and creamy. It felt nice going on. But it was, for all its pricey-ness, about as effective at rejuvenation as applying vegetable oil.

     Out of curiosity, I looked at the ingredients. What I didn’t realize when I bought it was that it supposedly contained snake venom. Wait, snake venom?

     I’m fairly certain no snakes were harmed in the production of this cream. More than likely, it was the result of some 30-something with a new chemistry kit. But snake venom sounds more daring than a string of unpronounceable polymers.
     I know what they were going for: the manufacturers wanted the public to believe that applying a topical toxin would have the same effect as an injection of botulinum toxin (aka Botox)

     It didn’t.

     But think about snakes for a moment. Even young snakes. Have you ever seen their skin? It’s positively scaly. I don’t even like snake skin shoes; I certainly don’t want a snake skin face.

     Into the trash went the promised snake oil, and I vowed I was through with promises of rejuvenation. My ordinary, Jennifer Aniston-endorsed, inexpensive moisturizer works just fine to keep my face from cracking.

     Enter the evil commercial from the competitor, another inexpensive lotion. “In just seven days you will see a decrease in fine lines and wrinkles,” they said – cue “In Just Seven Days” from the Rocky Horror Picture Show as you shake your head.

     Okay, it must do something. If I can see results in a week, it’s worth a try. Besides, it isn’t expensive snake oil.

     So, off to the local drug store’s beauty aisle I go. There it sits, just next to my usual cream. It has Retinol as one of it ingredients. That’s Vitamin A. That’s got to be good for you, yes? No.

     I gently washed my face each morning and studiously applied this lotion. It was sucked into my face – or the ozone – in seconds, leaving my skin feeling like it would tear if I cracked a smile.

     “Works well with any moisturizer,” the package said. 
     Okay, so it isn’t a moisturizer itself? I slathered on my usual moisturizer. Every. Single. Day.

     Each day, that 25-year-old peeked at the face. Day 1: nothing. Day 2: nothing. Day 3: some dry patches cropping up on my face. Each day thereafter, my face was redder and patchier. By day 7 it looked like it has looked in more naïve times, when I didn’t know about sun screens, after a day at the Jersey shore in strong sun. That was the only nod toward my youth that this cream provided.

     Fortunately, after a few days of simply using my regular skin cream, after I tossed out yet another failed promise of youth, my skin returned to its soft, although still just as wrinkled self.

     Once again I am determined that I will accept Mother Nature’s decree, and stop looking for the fountain of youth in a bottle. I can say that now, looking at a blank piece of paper, with no commercials or ads down the side of my Facebook page to lure me into another deception.

     I wonder if there’s a Fountain-of-Youth-Seeker’s Anonymous.