A Visit to the Pharmacy, 75 Years Too Late

...and other matters, related and non-related.

You all know how I like to kill spiders, yes? Well, it's not so much that I go hunting for the little eight-legged vermin, but only that if they get in my way (or within 10 feet of me, for that matter) that it is an established and proven fact...they are going to die, probably violently and horribly.

Though I have on occasion simply whisked them up into a paper towel and tossed them into the Spiders' Tunnel of Fun (a.k.a. the loo), stomped on them, flattened them with some kind of handy nearby object, or screeched for someone close to me to kill them, most of the time I prefer hairspraying them to the wall.

It immobilises them, do you see, and then leaves them plastered there for all other spiders to see.

It struck me the other day that my room is much like a miniature Execution Dock. An Execution Dock for spiders, if you will. Execution Dock was the place all condemned criminals were sentenced to spend their last living hours and last deceased months/years (depending on how well they were tarred against the weather). All other criminals were supposed to see the poor wretches and turn from their wicked ways.

Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work with spiders.

This morbid little thought leads me, in a rather roundabout way, to my next topic. My mum and I have recently decided to put our little collection of things we never use into a small antique/craft shop nearby. As I was browsing round the store one day, I ventured over toward a few shelves containing a small assortment of detritus.

I spied two glass bottles on the top shelf, and immediately reached for one.

"To restore vivacity and firmness to the skin," said the label.

"Hmm," I thought, and tried to open the bottle top. It was rusted shut. "Too bad," I thought, shaking the contents up a bit and making them from a oil-and-water sort of separated mush into a viscous brown sloshy liquid.

Next to that bottle was another, this time of clear water-like liquid. I set the first down and reached for that one, again attempting to open the top. This one opened and I delicately smelt the contents: sharp, musty, and medicinal.

"'Cavity Fluid,'" I read from the label. "What? Cavity fluid? For tooth-aches? Is this like some sort of archaic Anbesol?"

I read on. "'Do not inject into veins.' What?!"

Then I turned the bottle in my hands and inspected the back of the label. "'Mortuary Fluid.' Oh. I get it. That kind of cavity fluid."

The first bottle, upon inspection, also said "Mortuary Fluid" on the back. I suppose they were funeral preparations. I can't help wondering if the first bottle would also restore vivacity and firmness to predeceased skin. Who needs Botox? Just whip out your trusty bottle of Mortuary Fluid and you'll forever be the age you are now. Well, for another 80 years or so, perhaps. Combine it with the Cavity Fluid, and you'll be great inside and out! Just "do not inject into veins."

Come to think of it, the first bottle of slush looked suspiciously similar to the quickly-separating layers of my twice-monthly Tim Horton's chocolate iced cappuccino.

Heh.

I love segues! Have I mentioned that?

On now to the closely related main topic! Once again the setting was an antique shop, but this time I was with my mum and Clair. We wandered about the shop looking at various things that caught our attention.

"Oh, look," I said, leading the way toward a shelf full of small boxes, glass bottles, and tins.

"Wonderful," my mum commented dryly, knowing my penchant for investigating such things.

"Cool, hair tonic!" I said, reaching for a bottle. "Dang, it's empty. What's in here?"

The next bottle was full of a dusty powder that was supposed to be used for...well, actually, I'm not sure what its purpose was. It was medicinal, I know that. I called Clair over and made her take a look. "That's...interesting," she managed politely.

"Yeah, it must have dried up to a powder over the years. Or maybe it always was a powder! What do you think?"

"I'm really, umm, not sure."

"Oh! Bay leaves!" I opened the box and found that they were fully intact, if a little crumbly round the edges. I showed Clair.

"They're definitely bay leaves!" she affirmed cheerfully.

I investigated the next box and found it to be chock-full of very moldy little antacid tablets.

"Digestive Tablets, anyone?" I asked, proffering the open box.

"Ewwwww!" came the simultaneous comment from both Mum and Clair. They tried to beat a retreat for the opposite side of the store, but not before I got to show them several other fascinating little containers full of various powdered, creamy, dried-up, mushy, moldy objects of medicine or cookery. Mum made her escape, but Clair lingered for a moment trying to persuade me to leave before I managed to poison myself.

"You really shouldn't..."

"LOOK! Cloverine salve!" I yowled, grabbing the tiny round tin and wrenching it open to reveal the greasy half-used contents, probably last employed around October 1931.

I made as if to sample it, but Clair's hand yanked mine away. "NO!" she barked authoritatively. "Leave it alone! You're going to catch something disgusting! What do you think they USED Cloverine salve for, anyway?!"

That is our Clair, God bless her. This is why I love her -- she is always protecting her klutzy, misguided, and slightly loopy friend (me) from making a fatal mistake! :D

The adventures we have...!