Family
Back to the Future

Puffy Eyes

A while ago, I decided to do something about my newly-puffy eyes. I headed to the cosmetics department of my favorite department store and asked for help from the perfectly-made-up saleswoman. She had the cream for me—a dab under each eye morning and night and no more bags, she promised. She said that no one had ever returned it.  So I handed over way too much money and was on my way.

Seven weeks later to the day, I returned to the counter to spoil the record of no returns.  I had a long conversation with a different saleslady.  She said she lived by that cream, that if I had used it properly and it hadn’t worked, I probably needed plastic surgery. 

I told her I was seventy-three and since my husband’s eyesight is failing, surgery seemed extreme. She said that I couldn’t be seventy-three (I was wearing my tight Brazilian jeans). Then she told me that having survived breast cancer surgery fifteen years ago, she would never elect a surgical procedure.  I told her I was glad she was still alive.  Then I bought everything I could think of—lipstick, eye shadow, mascara.  By the time I left, I had a new friend.

Now I have a new plan.  According to the Internet, top models fix puffy eyes with cucumber slices.

Next stop, the produce department. 

 

 

 

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