GUARANTEED

     Never again will I purchase an item with the words guaranteed. The word must be a mistake! It should read, "guard against using."

     If the package is imprinted with one size fits all, it should bear skull and cross bones.  Pantyhose—those little balls of pantyhose—the ones that are stuffed inside a concrete skeleton that can’t be pried apart without a jackhammer, should remain on the shelf. Problem is, they are purchased with the belief that if it can be mashed, prodded and goaded into an opening the size of a fingernail—everything we have can do likewise—it’s guaranteed! Wrong! Taking the no run, no snag, better than ever pantyhose from the little cradle, I carefully unfolded each leg, noting there was no right or left arrow indicating which foot should be placed in the proper opening.  Cautiously, making sure no toenails would puncture the delicate, so called indestructible silk worm case, my body began squeezing between fibers. Before I knew what was happening, my lower anatomy looked like a bag of potatoes in a wide meshed, holey bag. Unable to stop pulling the waist band, it wound up above my head and automatically fashioned itself with a big brown bow. Looking like a humpy bumpy, warty toad, I jerked off the one size fits all pantyhose and used it for a bedspread.

     Wanting my skin to be eighteen again, I opted for the bright red package. It was shiny like a new Christmas ball. Reading the instructions that told me—guaranteed, a little dab will do it—should have sent up red flags. Nah! It seemed so simple. Excited to get home, I raced to the bathroom. Opening the box was exciting, knowing that within a few minutes, my skin would appear smooth as silk—no wrinkles—it’s guaranteed!  Making sure no one was watching, the sweet smelling cream was applied to my face. Heaven help me it was like super glue. "Can’t stop now—if I do, my face will be behind me." Continuing with the massage and waiting the allotted time for the cream to do its stuff, I grab a cup of coffee and sit. Twenty minutes had lapsed and time for the mirror. It was a nightmare! My eyes were like tiny little slits and the eyebrows were on top of my head. When I smiled I looked like a wide mouthed bullfrog sitting on a lily pad showing nothing but my teeth. Yeah, my face was smooth because the wrinkles crawled under my chin—I could have pleated them up with bobby pens.

     No more man made concoctions—it’s guaranteed!