Recalling berries and blondes
Got carried away with family visiting over the Labor Day holiday and almost forgot to get a column done, so rewrote one from summer of 1999 to make deadlines:
——————
Several years ago, First Wife Iris caught me using her “special” and “expensive” skin conditioner. Said she had been wondering why her supply was going down so fast and this led to her discovering Ol’ George had been smearing on a lot of that gunk because the label said it cured wrinkles.
The expensive lotion may have gone but my wrinkles didn’t, and Iris made me buy her a new bottle from my allowance. That incident taught me to leave her toiletries absolutely alone, and I felt good thinking I’d never again do such things as use hair spray which was actually Glade air freshener, or brush my teeth with burn ointment, but we must remember, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
Because I don’t want to disturb Iris when arising early on Thursday’s hiking day, I brush my teeth and take care of personal grooming in the family bathroom where Iris keeps her stuff. Last week could have been my last day on earth because of not wearing glasses when I washed my face. The left elbow felt a little scaley so dabbed on some handy lotion. On the drive up for breakfast at West Glacier, I couldn’t help noticing I smelled like huckleberries.
Washed the stuff off in the café restroom the best I could, and on the hike carried an extra canister of bear spray. Upon returning home that night, I put on my glasses and read the label of that new beauty aid. On one side is printed, “Montana Huckleberry Lotion.” On the other side it says, “A deliciously fragrant moisturizer that truly captures the essence of the Montana Huckleberry.”
I thought back on that day’s long hike and my blood ran cold thinking of the fresh griz tracks we’d seen in the trail. If there is one thing in the whole world hikers in Glacier Park do not need, it's skin lotion that “captures the essence of the Montana Huckleberry.”
Alert, chauvinism continues to occasionally raise its ugly head. Now they’re making up blonde jokes with a nasty twist. Heard this one last week:
Three blondes were walking on the beach and found a bottle. They opened it up and out popped a genie who promptly said, “For setting me free, I’ll give each of you one wish.”
The first blonde thought a minute and then said, “I’d like to be more cultured, like, you know, understand and appreciate the classics of literature and music.”
“Ali-baba-kerzam,” said the genie, and the blonde started reciting passages from Shakespeare.
The second blonde said, “I’d like to be smarter in mathematics and physics.”
“Ali-baba-kerzam,” said the genie, and the second blonde began explaining Einstein’s theory of relativity.
The third blonde said, “Well, to be perfectly honest, I enjoy my life as it is, with a lot of adventure and romance. I don’t worry about the economy and U.S. foreign policy. Being smarter wouldn’t add anything. I’d like to be dumber.”
“Ali-baba-kerzam,” said the genie, and the blonde was turned into a man.
——————
Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t make up that quirky fable, and I’m not deeply pleased by its message. The only reason I would even repeat such a fairy tale is so the general public will know what some social troublemakers are up to these days.
G. George Ostrom is a Kalispell resident and a national award-winning Hungry Horse News columnist.