Sunday, September 6, 2009
Lather, Rinse & Repeat
It's the end of summer around here, so I've decided to let my mind have a nice long weekend off. I don't want to consider anything too deep or moving--I'm saving that for Obama's scandalous speech for kids to stay in school.
When the shampoo bottle instructions recommend to lather, rinse and repeat, do you? Repeat, I mean. I think it's a waste of money--right up there with expensive shampoos and wool wash. Though I like the smell of wool wash, at $64 a gallon, they can keep it and I'll use good old fashioned dish soap.
Of course these thoughts came unbidden during a shower this morning as I uncapped the $3 bottle of Pantene and thought it smelled pretty nice. Not as nice as the really expensive shampoos I used to wash down the drain, but it does the job.
I picked up the Pantene at Target yesterday. As usual, I went with a mission to buy an inexpensive steamer, and only the steamer, for my yarn and clothes. It was modestly priced at $30. I ended up forking over 5 times what I'd intended to spend just to buy more crap I thought I needed. Have you priced razor blades lately? They're out of their minds, and if hair on my legs were something that didn't bug me, I wouldn't have bought them. Since it's been awhile since I've shaved my legs, I bought a box of band aids to keep around just in case tragedy struck while shaving. And neosporin. And jammies for Rachel. Oh... and some hand cream. I congratulated myself on that one, because I had been planning on going to Bath and Body works and spending way more on hand cream than what's necessary. What I won't spend on wool wash, I will on hand cream.
Finally, after reading the news today, I was amazed at the gimmickry Wall Street is up to again. There are groups of investors who'd like to buy your life insurance policy off of you before you die. Of course, they're only going to give you a percentage of what it's worth when it becomes clear that you have a more definite expiration date. When you're six feet under, they'll cash it in for the full amount. Instead of your family getting the money they thought was coming to them, some invisible investor will. I guarantee that this investor will have nothing to do with swabbing your mouth and wiping your behind while you're dying.
Pondering this news in the shower, I got to thinking that this may indeed be the ultimate death panel. I mean, what if you're told you're dying of cancer? You take your diagnosis home and decide that rather than treatment, it's time to live it up. You see a Wall Street Flim-Flam Man who makes your wish come true and with a new jingle in your step, you tear up the town. Two weeks later the doc calls to tell you, "um, they got your slides mixed up with somebody else and I need to tell you that to our knowledge, you not the one dying. Some other poor schmuck is. Great news, isn't it?" Ya think? I foresee a posse of Wall Street Fat Cats--or their designated vermin-- that will ride out and make sure that those who danced with this particular devil will pay the price.
Money for nothin'...No such thing.
Gotta go start the grill. I hope you're having a lazy weekend, too.