Crankyville

Confession: I’m kind of cranky as I type this. “Out of sorts,” as my Nana would say. Sunny and Peggy (that’s her husband—it’s not really his name, but what I now call him—that story shall follow soon) are about to head to California to see their youngest son (a handsome young man and fantastic golfer). I’m in envy. Sunny is such a cutie-patootie: gorgeous, smart and tres funny. Very much a “Beach Girl.” Wears pretty, fun, stylish and colorful clothes—and super cute shoes. She’s a great Mom, Grandmom and awesome friend. We do everything in our power to lunch once a week. Hubby and I will be heading off on an adventure when they return, so I won’t get to whine to her for a while. Shoot.

In order to try to cheer myself up, I got to thinkin’ about one of my most favorite things:

Neosporin.

Yes. Seriously. Remember in My Big Fat Greek Wedding (one of the all-time most fabulous movies EVER) when Gus, the Dad, squirts Windex on everything and everyone because he believes it’s a cure-all for bad and evil stuff? (Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to convince my Hubby, since he watched the movie, that this is not factual—he tries it out constantly. I have to really be on guard or he’ll squirt Windex in my bowl of Shredded Wheat.)  I can totally relate to Gus. Only for me—it’s Neosporin.

You younguns don’t know about Mercurochrome, but my more “senior” friends remember how our Moms and the School Nurse thought it would cure EVERYTHING wrong with us. For any and all injuries, big or small, out came the Mercurochrome. It must have been purchased for homes and schools by the galloons. When it was applied, it was orange-y red and difficult to get off—in fact, it basically had to fade with time. At some point, long about maybe eleven years old, when I realized that staining antiseptic was going to be on me for days and weeks to come, I wised up. I’d just wash the blood off and move on. It simply wasn’t worth it.

However, Neosporin so IS! I discovered it a couple of years after marrying Hubby—with his four boys we used it—a lot. A pharmacist friend recommended it and there I went: TO THE PLACE OF ALL HEALING—Neosporinland.

TLC was four years old when she looked up at me one day—those big brown eyes sparkling with… ummm… mischief—and asked if I would call Kit, my hairstylist (who I’ve now gone to for 25 years). TLC couldn’t reach the kitchen phone. “Why?” I asked. “Because I need to talk to her,” she innocently answered. Hmmm. Interesting, I thought. I dialed Kit up and handed the phone to TLC. “Kit, would you pierce my ears?” After I pulled myself up off the floor, I grabbed the phone and told Kit we’d call her back. TLC begged and begged. I lectured and lectured. I told her if she didn’t take care of her ears and they got infected, they’d fall off her head. She said she understood. I let Kit and her Mom (they each grabbed an ear and pulled the trigger of those “guns” at the exact same moment—they had quickly learned if they tried to do one ear and then the other, many kids would go berserk and bail out of the chair before the job was done) pierce TLC’s ears a few days later. I then dealt with several of TLC's friends’ Moms who were FURIOUS with both of us—Toddler and Mom Peer Pressure, you know. I became an even greater supporter of Neosporin and, as is my job, have succeeded in making TLC cherish it, also.

I cannot stand to be without Neosporin. I have it everywhere. In all the bathrooms. In my car. In my purse. In my cosmetic bag that is ready for a trip at a moment’s notice. I diligently check the expiration dates on all of these tubes.

So here’s what I wish:

I wish Neosporin could heal the World. I wish God could open up the biggest tube ever made and spread it everywhere. I wish it could heal hatred, violence, war, poverty, addictions (especially Diet Dew and sugar), worry, fear, impatience, low self-esteem, laziness (my own, especially) and mean people. I wish it could fix my left, 100% deaf ear (that story, too, will be coming your way) and my chubbiness.

If only . . .

Thank you to whoever invented this Miracle Cream. Thank you from the bottom of my grateful heart.

Attention Neosporin Officials: You have my permission to halt production of the ointment anytime you want. I positively despise it. Yuck. Too greasy. (If any of you Peeps happen to like it, please, oh please, explain.) When I make a mistake and buy it, and I sometimes do, it’s tragic for moi. I’m tres upset. I try to pass it off to Hubby. He hasn’t fallen for that yet, however.

I feel much less cranky now… thank you!

Gotta scoot… just remembered I have an Expiration Date Inspection due...