(Long Island, N.Y.) When my precious package was delivered by my UPS man, I was more than willing to greet him with a smile. I swore I would never let him see my face again since my “pajama malfunction”. (My daughter lifted up my shirt, exposing my nipple while signing for a package months earlier). But I greeted him at the door, and let him place the holy brown box in my hand. Behold- my miracle came 2-day Express. It’s my 195 dollar, jar of Crème de la Mer. Skin salvation…plus free shipping and handling.
How I learned about this pricey face cream is still a mystery to me. Did I read about it in a magazine? See it on TV? Did a long-passed relative visit me in a dream and whisper the words: La Mer? I honestly can’t remember, but somehow I got it in my crazy little head that the stuff would work miracles for my pimpled, scarred, sun damaged skin.
A couple of years ago, (before kids!) I was charging through the mall doing last minute Christmas shopping, when something slowed my pace; the La Mer display at Neiman Marcus. The counter was all aglow, as if the star of Bethlehem hung poised above it.
“Hello. Can I tell you about La Mer?” asked a beautiful sales woman, who seemed to sneak up beside me.
I didn’t say a word, but my wide eyes must have answered her perfectly. She briefly described all the products in the line, and suggested I give their legendary face cream a try. La Mer was developed by a NASA scientist and is a big hit with celebrities and the rich and famous. She handed me her card, and a sample to take home. “You had me at hello,” I joked and without a quiver in my voice said, “I’ll take the 2 ounce jar.” I reached into my wallet, pulled out a wad of hundreds and started to peel them back, as if to say: “Oh yeah, there’s plenty more where they came from.”
Actually, there wasn’t. That rock-star wad was my rent money. Even though I was spending like Paris Hilton, I didn’t realize I would soon look her like too, from having to eat Cheerios a la carte for dinner for the next three weeks. But in that moment, I felt rich! I hurried out of the mall, practically tore the box open with my teeth, and applied Crème de la Mer, there in the parking lot. I drove home in my rickety car, feeling like royalty. It was everything I dreamed it would be. Soon, all other moisturizers became mere mortals next to La Mer. My scars faded, not a pimple in sight, and by gosh, I think even my lips got fuller.
My sister told me that I could find my costly cream on the Internet for $50 . My response? Nope. No way. Nothing makes the heart beat faster, and the skin more radiant, than the purchase of something stupidly expensive. (It must activate a secret “bling” hormone.)
I recently had to go without my beloved cream for a couple of months. I walked around the house shrieking like the wicked witch of the west: “I’m melting. M-e-l-t-i-n-g! Thank goodness, my husband (who’s all about an occasional splurge if it makes you feel good) calmly assured me, my face is defiantly not melting, and my precious Crème de la Mer is on its way. The stuff really worked wonders for me.
