Glamour Girl

For my son’s fifth birthday, my mom came all the way from Maryland to be part of the birthday festivities. Of course, in typical kindergarten fashion, Ara got sick and generously shared his cold germs with me. My mother, a newly converted herbalist, took charge of our healing program. She administered hot and cold compresses, echinachea, charcoal tablets and endless garlic cloves of garlic on buttered toast to head the bad guys off at the pass, or at least give them a dinner break. As a staunch granola head, I accepted all forms of natural healing and vigorously cleared my chi, neti potted my nasal cavities, and took hot and cold showers to help the healing cause.

The night before the big birthday party, Ara kept coughing himself awake, crying, drifting off, then coughing himself awake again. Of course that meant that the entire household followed suit. Finally, at about 3:00 am I broke down. I crept into the guest bedroom and whispered my mother awake, then grabbed a jacket and ran out for children's Tylenol. 

King Sooper’s was surprisingly busy for three in the morning, bustling with customers and stock boys alike. I kind of liked the weird middle of the night vibe. Cheerily I greeted everyone I encountered, and asked a cashier for assistance in finding the medicine aisle. For some reason though, not many people smiled back. I was puzzled to find many of them skitter off with sideways eyes. I breathed into my palm and sniffed. Well, it wasn’t a basket of roses but certainly not so horrible as to provoke that reaction. Subdued, I selected three bottles and paid for them.

When I got home, my mother had turned on the living room light and was walking my fretful child, who was draped pitifully over her shoulder like a boneless chicken. “Got them!” I stage whispered triumphantly, waving the bag open. My mother took one look at me and started laughing. 

“What?” I demanded, but she couldn’t speak. “Just go look in the mirror,” she finally managed, and I did.

So. This is why women check themselves in the mirror before leaving the house. My face was amply festooned with trails of charcoal. There was a ring around my mouth, a smudge on my nose, and my horrified shriek revealed that yes, even my teeth were completely black. 

But there was a silver lining, believe it or not. Ara’s cough almost completely went away and the birthday party was a big success. And I have stopped eating charcoal.

Except for every once in a while, on special occasions. Like the flu.