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Laverne H. Bardy Headshot

Gullible's Travels

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My cataracts were removed several years ago, but when my sight once again became foggy I thought the darn things had either grown back or I was going blind. My ophthalmologist quelled my fears when he said that cataracts do not grow back but, in 20 percent of cases, lenses become cloudy.

A three minute laser treatment repaired the problem, but left me with the same terrible side effects as when my cataracts were removed: deep wrinkles and liver spots appeared on my face. My husband insists they were there before the laser treatment. He's wrong. If I looked like this before I would never have opted for clearer vision.

I was whining about this appalling side effect to a friend, who recommended the Miracle Pill she had seen on the Dr. Oz show, guaranteed to diminish the appearance of fine lines and wrinkles in six weeks. Six weeks, at my age, is a long time to wait, but I'm not going anywhere looking like this so I ordered it. Worse case scenario I'll look good in time for my funeral.

Shortly thereafter I was drawn in again while watching the TV show The Doctors, which consists of a panel of doctors who discuss health issues. The lead doctor is Travis Stork.

A product called Wrinkle Butter was being touted as the latest breakthrough in skin care, claiming countless anti-aging benefits. A woman in a white lab coat smeared Wrinkle Butter over Dr. Stork's face. Her white lab coat assured me that she was an authority.

I became leery when I learned that the product being rubbed over the doctor's face came "from the bowels of earthworms." They called it "worm castings" and said it was filled with peptides and enzymes clinically proven to repair damaged skin. I had no idea what a peptide was but I did know that even though it had a charming name like Wrinkle Butter, if it came from the bowels of earthworms, it was worm poop.

I wondered how scientists came up with the idea of smearing it over a woman's face? Was the decision unanimous? Was it first tested on wrinkled rats? Had they even consider using it for anything else first? Like fuel? Or shoe polish?

But, I was blinded by the promise of dewy skin, so I not only ordered a jar for myself, I purchased one for my daughter. What loving mother doesn't want her daughter to experience the pleasure of smearing worm crap over her face?

When the package arrived, I opened the jar and stared in disbelief. I don't know what the hell they smeared on Dr. Stork's face, but it most definitely was not the same product that arrived in my mailbox. While his face had been covered with a white cream, my jar was filled with brown stuff; brown enough to remind me of what it actually was.

I stared at it for several days, garnering the courage to use it. On the fourth day I dabbed it on my face -- gingerly. I tried to ignore the small particles of grit that were probably obtained from right under the worm during the poop scoop. I suspected that rather than spend time and money refining the product, they opted to leave it in, in hopes that women would accept it as an exfoliate.

After two weeks of nightly applications, my wrinkles still glared at me, and since I was having difficulty getting past the product's color, I was only too happy to drop kick it into the trash -- as did my daughter.

While I waited for Dr. Oz's Miracle Pill to arrive, I saw another of his shows where he endorsed an all natural diet pill. Always looking for a quick and easy fix, I ordered three bottles. Directions said to take one pill twice daily, and I could lose between seven to ten pounds the first week. I was psyched, and began shopping for a new wardrobe. I even gave a bottle to my son.

After a week and a half my son lost 10 pounds. I gained three.

There's a Cherokee Indian at my door selling an elixir he promises will get rid of my arthritis, cellulite, and toenail fungus. I'm a little skeptical but he has a website, so he must be legitimate. I mean, everyone knows that if you read it on the Internet it's true. Right?

There's a fine line between naivety and stupidity. It scares me to think that somewhere along the way I may have stepped over it.