The Wrinkled Truth

About a year ago, in weeks preceding my birthday, I discovered something. Perhaps it was the time passing, wobbly but swift like a child newly freed of his training wheels. Perhaps it was the arctic temperatures, the air dry from a thermostat set higher than my otherwise green conscience should have allowed. Perhaps it was that extra cup of coffee, (grabbed in haste by a woman deprived of sleep, devoted to family), persistently and insidiously squeezing every last molecule of moisture from a soul who nearly worshipped her water in days gone by. In the end, it was that old lady smiling, squinting from the bright snow, gazing back at me through the salt encrusted windows of my own minivan who told me the truth.

I discovered a skin care emergency: wrinkles, carved by joy, but beyond my years.

I did what any logical woman would do: research. I considered my options. Since I have two very good friends in the skin care industry, I consulted them each at length. I heard about chemistry, derm layers, pores, moisture barriers and moisture absorption and departed my friends with samples of each of their products (bless their hearts). Both friends ensured me that in just three or four weeks, I would certainly be pleased with the improvements.

Since both of those friends have integrity beyond question, I had to assume both made excellent recommendations. Both products would certainly work. One was more expensive than the other, and that was certainly a consideration. But, I wanted to know which one was right for ME. After all, everyone’s skin is certainly different. How would I know? Which do I use first? Would using the first one make my skin so nice that the effect of the second one would not be noticed?

I had a plan.

On the left side of my countertop, I placed Jane's cream. On the right side I kept a sample of Jill's. Every morning and evening for four weeks I put Jane’s cream on the left side of my face and Jill’s on the right. Yes, I really did that.

After about a week, I noticed a difference on both sides of my face. I happened to run into Jane at preschool and mentioned my experiment.

“You aren’t really doing that.”

“Of course I am really doing it. How else will I know for sure? If they are both the same, then the less expensive one wins.”

“That’s, well, unique. Let me know how that works out. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she hurried off, seeking shelter both from the snow and her crazy friend.

Right. Well, as it turned out, Jane's won. I could really tell a difference. And, in the end, I was willing to pay a little extra for the product I preferred.

Of course, I’m not suggesting that you should buy something simply because of my test, but if you have been wondering, try your own experiment.

Just try it. Really.

Oh, but don’t tell anyone in the preschool parking lot. They will think you are as nutty as their friend MIT Mommy.