Helen lays on an Egyptian stone table, the madman staring down upon her, knife in hand. (Author’s notes: Relax, you know me better than this.) It is time for Helen to go to that great pyramid in the sky. The detectives pull up outside, frantically looking for entrance into the building. “Helen,” they cry out as they enter the interior realm! The madman turns, his ring pointing toward them, causing them to fall into an immediate catatonic state. As he prepares to usher Helen from this world, Isis, from inside her sarcophagus, renders the madman useless, his skin mummifying before our eyes. As detective Frank regains use of his limbs, Helen slips into a deep slumber, waking only as the legendary scroll of the undead catches fire. As it burns, they feel the terror they experienced slipping away with the forming of the ash. This is the ending of 1932’s The Mummy. That’s what we’re here to talk about today. Mummies. See, I think I’m a modern-day version.
Admittedly, I’m all about two things: saving money and hippy-dippy-redneck health cures. I’m happy to tell you that I have successfully combined those two things! Before we get into the specifics and I take credit for saving the world, I think it’s important for me to address the things that I don’t adhere to, namely because they’re expensive and/or the results may be detrimental to my health. I don’t color my hair. I don’t have acrylic or dipped or gelled or anythinged nails. I don’t get Botox. I haven’t had any plastic surgeries since/other than those that correlate with my prior cancer issues. I think it’s great for anyone who wants to pay for those things. I just feel like society demands that women shouldn’t age. I am not okay with that ideology. Besides, botulinum toxin injections don’t work on 4% of women. It’s me. I am 4% of women. Wink, wink.
I am a terrible sleeper. Correction. I used to be a terrible sleeper. One of my major focuses of the last several years was to improve my sleeping. It is the key to everything. There are many things you cannot be without proper sleep: a person with decent blood pressure, fit, mentally stable, and many more. I am sort of but not all the way joking. What was your secret, you may be asking. Was it melatonin? Was it a beforebed stretching routine? Was it meditation? Was it 10,000 steps a day? All these things can help, but I found the one thing that righted my upturned sleeping applecart. It’s called mouth taping. Every evening, right before lights out, I march into the bathroom, wipe the moisturizer from my lips, purse them together, and apply a single strip of gentle-peel medical tape right down the center – from under my nose to my chin. I smooth it down. I test it out. I place my head on the pillow, breathe deeply for several minutes, and drift into a slumber that only a 3 am bladder can rouse. But wait, there’s more.
“I don’t care if I look old. I don’t care if I look old. I don’t care if I look old.” That’s my mantra most days. I mean it, too. I try to believe it, at least. I can’t lie, though. It stinks to watch the jawline get wavy, the waistline thicken, the Grand Canyon-esque crevice form between my eyebrows. Thank goodness, one of the hippy-dippyredneck style influencers I follow on social media came up with a brilliant solution. First, we mix our potions. That’s the thing about this country’s billiondollar skincare industry. What are all those ingredients? Sorbitan Stearate. Cetyl Ricinoleate. Paraffinum Liquidum – this one sounds like a Harry Potter spell. Are these things I want soaking into my skin – my body’s largest organ? Instead, I mix up a tincture of organic castor oil, calendula oil, frankincense, and blackseed oil. It makes an amazing nighttime serum for this old face. For daytime, I absolutely swear by bison tallow, but that is a topic best left for another column, perhaps one with a western flair. There I am, every night, diligently applying oil after oil, alternating from face to feet to elbows to knees. Double, double, oil, no trouble. That’s the battle cry of a middle-aged wannabe chemist.
The next thing my online guru suggested I do was invest in a different sort of tape. The idea is to create a brining system for my wrinkles. Think about a tres leches cake. You pour all that milk on the top, but you cannot serve it until it all soaks into the cake. The problem with oil and faces, however, is pillows. I don’t know about you, but I am a messy sleeper. I flop like a fish in a boat. I cannot fathom the oil slick I would cause if my face concoction was left to the desires of a pillowcase. That’s where the tape comes into play! Enter a new tape – super sticky surgical tape – the kind that can stick to the oiliest skin.
One strip over the Grand Canyon. Check. One strip, cut in half, on either side of that strip to stretch out and cover my forehead lines. Check. One more sliver of a strip on my bunny lines (the ones I get from adorably crinkling my nose). Check. Mouth tape. Check. Thermostat turned to Ice Age temperature. Check. Meditation story app on high volume to counteract the tinnitus. Check. Ceiling fan and bedside fan turned on medium speed. Check. Weiner dog centered in the bed. Check. Comforter tented slightly to avoid the dreaded monkey feet syndrome. Check. Lights out.
I wake up most mornings with annoying levels of positivity that only decent sleep allows. The Grand Canyon is more like a ditch these days. My TMJ is practically non-existent due to the mouth tape pulling my jaw into its proper place. Life as a mummy isn’t all bad. Just don’t ask me complicated questions when I get in bed. All you get is a ghoulish “mmmmmmmm.”
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