VERA

“I’m having root canal treatment this morning but if I can still stand, me and my new bra will be coming into do the sweeping this morning – try not to stare.”

This is the message I sent my ex-colleague at the place where I used to Care, where I don’t care anymore - I just sweep.  Sometimes I think newer members of the staff team are not quite sure how to greet me.  Possibly they’re not sure if I speak English, although mask wearing can create an extra social barrier and in these times, who knows how much greeting to do anyway?

This particular colleague from my past is quite shy and so I’m going to call her Vera for the purposes of my story - it is not her real name.  However, she used to sell Aloe Vera products and was so absorbed in her practice that she always ended a phone call with “aloevera” in the way that a gaelic speaker might say “tioraidh” (cheerio) or a Hawaian might say” alohah”, an Italian “ciao” or a French person “salut”.  I can’t think that she made lots of money as she was always handing over a product for sore lips, or sun burn or sun screen and insisting that it was a gift.  The giving comes in the form of advice as well as products and I am often a beneficiary of both. Me and my mop were coming out of the building one day as she arrived for a long shift carrying a bag of food to see her through.  Before I could wash anymore floors, I found myself eating a strawberry tart from her pack of 2.  Another day, she was taking a breath of fresh air just outside where I was sweeping and she whipped her mask off and said “LOOK!”

Seeing people without their masks in those days of strict attire could be surprising.

“Wow Vera – what’s happened?  That’s not BOTOX is it??”

“Nope” she said, looking conspiratorially around in case of eavesdroppers.

“It’s udder cream!”

“Udder cream?”

“Yip - £6.99 from the farm supply shop.  Smear loads on your face before a shower and then more afterwards and you’ll look 10 years younger in no time.  Sophia Loren swears by it.  Or is it Raquel Welch?  I can’t remember but it works!”

As an example of how unalike I am to Sophia or Raquel, I once demonstrated a sentence in a story book that my little son didn’t understand. In George’s Marvellous Medicine, he describes his grandmother as having “a puckered up mouth like a dog’s bottom.”  Finns eyebrows shot up as he couldn’t imagine this.  So I pouted at him and he said “awwwwwwwwww, I see.”  For quite some time afterwards, he enjoyed telling people that his mummy had a puckered up mouth like a dog’s bottom.

My sister also observed that I had skin like Great Aunt Mary.  I was in my early 40’s and Aunt Mary was substantially older.  She laughed all the time and smoked a lot.  When telling a story, her features would disappear in deep creases as she wheezed in long outbreaks of laughter, her grin as wide as her face.  I’d be happy to inherit her sense of humour.

Thus, when I was driving past the farm supply shop, I spontaneously pulled in.  What harm could it do?

“I’d like some udder cream please,” I blushed – “it’s for my cow.”

“Pah!” he laughed, “ Like YOU’VE got a cow”

I lathered and lathered on a daily basis and wafted people with my antiseptic perfume as I swept passed them, broom in hand. Studies of my face showed no improvement but a couple of lesions over and above the liver spots had me book an appointment to see Heather the Nurse in case they needed further investigation.  She was working alongside the hospital Pharmacist that day who was gaining some clinical experience so it was he who examined my nose.  

“I don’t think you have much to worry about there but you say you are using a mildly antiseptic cream so I suggest you keep using that and we can book a 2nd opinion from the skin specialist.”

“Don’t you want to know what kind of cream I’m using?”

“Eh sure – what is it?”

“Udder cream!” I stated proudly.

Heather burst out laughing.  Not the first time she’s heard this.

“Just keep using it,” she advised.

The next items to appear through my front door from Vera were 3 push up bras that were surplus to her requirement.  She figured they’d fit me perfectly as she has an eye for such things.  When I thanked her, she said to remember to adjust the straps, which I did before going to the dentist.  Thankfully the root canal treatment was just initial exploration so I made it to work.  I met Vera out in the street when I was halfway through the job carrying my bucket and mop to the next hallway. She eyed me critically.  Did you remember to adjust the straps?

“Yes, I lengthened them.”

“What? – No, you need to shorten those straps, girl.  They’re pointing the wrong way!”

Whilst I clutched my mop, she shot her hands down the back of my dungarees and shortened one strap, howking things skywards.  As she was attempting to do the same on the other side she suddenly said

“What time is it?  Seriously!  What time?”

I told her.

“NO, NO, NO - I need to go and get my eyebrows done” she declared, as she jumped into her car and drove off.

“Aloe!!!  Vera!!  Aloe!”

Before heading to my next job, I took a critical look in the mirror to see if my lop-sidedness showed under my dungarees.  I felt I could get away with it, but looking at my face, I noted that the side with the lesions which was the same side as the shortened strap was much smoother than the other side?  Had the adjustment somehow tightened my skin?  Was the udder cream finally working?  Should I be applying the cream to other parts?

And then I remembered the 2 jags the dentist had applied to that side of my face.  Like Botox.

It’s not possible to anticipate what Vera will come up with next, but I look forward to it and I know I will benefit – one way or another.