GOT BUTTERED TOAST?
I NEED A SHAVE
By Patricia Misiuk

T hey’re passed down from generation to generation, those no-prescription-required home remedies that help us deal with life’s curve balls.

Your five o’clock shadow needs an up-close-and-personal encounter with a razor blade, but the shaving cream dispenser has sputtered its last pea-sized blob of foam. Sound familiar? Just pop bread into the toaster, butter when done, slather on wet stubble and shave.

I had trouble sleeping last night, so I browsed the Web for some help. Stuff a pillow with hops, one site suggested. OK. If that doesn’t work, I’ve got the makings for beer. A few Budweisers would certainly knock me out.

Yesterday I had hiccups. The only result of my father’s cure – guzzling water from the far lip of a glass ­– resulted in a spill on the floor. Again I trolled the Web- the font of all truth, not!- for advice. One over-the-top suggestion entails skydiving. The explanation in nerd speak expounds about the pressure fluctuations on the diaphragm muscle. Unless an upgrade to first class factors into the free-fall, I won’t jump on board.

Some swear by downing spoonfuls of peanut butter. It might cure hiccups but on the flip side, one may need expensive dental work. One oddball remedy is the nasopharyngeal airway insertion. Translation: Shove a thin rubber hose up a nostril until it reaches the back of the throat. Actually I discovered a less invasive cure that worked. I merely said “nasopharyngeal” three times and my hiccups were history.

Our family’s home remedy helped me survive my hormones-a-raging adolescence. As a teenager, I battled frizz on bad hair days, agonized over conjugating Latin verbs, and camouflaged facial blemishes with fresh-tinted goop. But nothing even approached the embarrassment I endured during my bout with boils.

Remember when milk came in narrow-necked glass bottles? Instead of lancing boils, an empty milk bottle served as a kinder and gentler alternative to the scalpel. My mother placed a clean empty milk bottle in a large pot filled with water. Then she brought everything to a boil. Yes, a boil. Carefully removing the bottle, Mom placed its neck on the skin surrounding the boil.

As the air cooled, it contracted and formed a partial vacuum, forcing the bacterial sludge to erupt. The process was simple and painless. Thankfully, by the time plastic and cardboard milk cartons replaced glass bottles, I had stopped getting boils.

Nowadays the volcanic eruptions on my face and other body parts have ceased so I’m searching for a non-Botox remedy for wrinkles. That’ll have to wait though. I’m running late and need to shower and shave my legs. But first I have to make some buttered toast.