I do most of my shopping at a large supermarket.  It is arranged so that if I am waiting in the pharmacy line I can look down one of two aisles with cosmetics.  The view is fascinating.

The occupants of those aisles are usually women, aged very young to middle aged.  Few elderly.

Now those women in the aisles will stand and/or squat for hours at a time, studying various bottles with an intent worthy of a cat watching a mouse.  The open, sniff, rub on forehead or wrist, read, walk over to a mirror, come back, grab the bottle next to the first and start over.

I must confess to wanting to tell some of them to give up, it’s not going to do any good, it’s a waste of money and time.  Nothing can help.  But they are focusing like an old-time Spaniard looking for the Fountain of Life.  I can’t help but wonder what they’re thinking.  That whatever is in the bottle will get them appreciated?  Try bourbon.   That their sisters in law will die of jealousy?  Try a diamond ring the size of the bottle.

The manufacturers of those products have clearly sold a dream, an idea of heaven, a fairy tale of gigantic proportions.  But don’t try to tell anyone that a super eyeliner will not take 40 pounds off their thighs.

It used to be that guys would do the same thing with the engines of anyone’s new car.  Would spend hours with the hood up, marveling from I-don’t-know-what-all, though I did it.  But with the new engines there’s nothing recognizable to see, and that’s gone by the board.