Catalogs That Give Away Your Age

Nothing makes you feel older than other people's children. This is one of my favorite sayings, because it's true and because I'm the one who said it. I have a friend who had a precocious three-year-old the last time we got together. This week she emailed me to tell me her kid is now a proctologist. All I could do was picture a tow-headed toddler sticking a finger up someone's rear. He couldn't possibly be that old. When did that happen? And how old does that make me? Sure my kids grew up, but that was a day by day process. They didn't hatch into adults in one email. It's unnerving.

Sometimes catalogs make me feel old, too. Lately I pause way too long looking at certain items I never noticed before. Not only did I not notice them previously; I didn't even know what they were! For example, The Vermont Country Store is one of my all time faves. It is a virtual shrine to nostalgia. I can relive my whole life through its pages. But yesterday my latest issue of VCS came, and I stopped to linger on Page 51: a section called "Discreet Solutions for Private Problems." Among the items were two FDA-approved screening kits. These $24.95 kits are for early screening of colorectal cancer and urinary tract infections. I guess that's the game of life. Move right past ovulation and pregnancy kits, pass GO, and collect poop samples.

Also featured in this section was the HealthStep, a toilet foot stool (no pun intended; well, it wasn't intended, but it is good, isn't it?) that will "align the digestive tract for easier, more complete elimination of waste." The copy claims that squatting is the best position for the human body to completely eliminate all waste. To make this preferred position possible, the HealthStep fits under your feet to allow "...a thorough evacuation of waste, helping prevent such common conditions as hemorrhoids, bladder incontinence, constipation, diverticulitus, and IBS." The HealthStep "fits neatly around the base of the toilet when not in use." For $72.95, it is (and it oughta be at that price) a "durable" plastic doo-dad. (No pun intended. But it's still pretty good, isn't it?) At least it took me about ten minutes to figure out what IBS stood for.

I'm not buying any of this, but I did loiter too long on this page. Furthermore, I turned down the corner of the page to keep the place--just in case someday my friend's toddler, the proctologist, recommends these items. I'll know just where to find them.