Wednesday, November 28, 2007

for the papercut in paradise, for the lizard skins in ypsilanti

Winter is here, and I don't know about you-all, but that means papercuts. Horrible nasty ones, like all the papers are lying in silent wait until that one moment you're not paying quite good enough attention, and they metamorphosize into knives and slice your skin to the bone.

For years I tried everything I could think of. The best, thickest, creamiest lotions, from every brand-name store I could imagine. My pocket money ran out, and the papercuts ran on. My hands began to look like I spent my free time arm-wrestling with cats or weeding briar patches or juggling razor blades.

Until I found it. Or, rather, received it in my Christmas stocking. Santa, aka Mom, was smart.

I got a little plastic tube of Vaseline.

Papercuts betware! Petroleum jelly is your Kryptonite!

Ladies and gents, this stuff is magic. And if you buy it at Wal-Mart from the travel section, a tube costs you only ten cents. If you object to Wal-Mart, you can go to CVS for a slightly bigger tube at a dollar-fifty. A little tube lasts for months; "a little dab'll do ya," as my mom says; and it's also usable on chapped lips or other parts of the body, like elbows and heels. It provides a protective coat that doesn't soak all the way into your skin and doesn't dry out and doesn't go away unless you wash your hands. It's scentless, so if you're like me and hate all the fission-powered scents out there that rock into your nostrils and blow your sinuses apart like atom bombs, you're safe. This is the perfect skin care tool.

Of course, there's probably something deadly and terrible about it that will give me cancer of the fingers in thirty years. But in the meantime, my paper cuts have diminished by something outrageous like ninety percent. My pocketbook isn't gasping from the punishing prices of Bath & Body Works. And my hands look like hands again.

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