New Products Not Made for Old Bodies

Is It Just Me, or have today's products driven old folks like me past our expiration dates?

First case in point: Toothpaste in a pump can. Wanting to save counter space near the bathroom sink, not long ago I bought a pump can of toothpaste gel that turns into foam when it hits your mouth. Perfect, I thought - that is, until I tried to use it. Almost immediately, I learned that repetitive strain injuries to my wrist and thumb, however slight they may be, made pushing the damn thing hard enough that getting anything out was not only painful, but virtually impossible. 

After two or three days of stuggling to get enough out to get my teeth clean, I gave up. What I wasn't willing to give up, though, was the toothpaste itself - after all, it wasn't cheap. Why not, I reasoned, pump all of it into a small container that had a tight lid, toss the pump can and dip my electric toothbrush into the container during my twice-a-day cleaning ritual?

That I did, taking frequent breaks from pushing the pump with the heel of my hand (at a not insignificant amount of physical discomfort). As I finally finished, I almost swelled with pride because I'd chosen exactly the right size container; the blue jelly mass filled it just enough to leave room for the lid. That evening, I said to myself, I'd be able to brush my teeth without pain shooting up my arm.

But pride goeth before a fall, and oh, what a difference a day makes. Did you know that apparently that gel stuff expands not only in your mouth, but when it hits air? Neither did I, and you guessed it: When I reached for the container to brush my teeth that night, one side of the lid had popped up and blue goo was all over the outside of the container.

Stubborn woman that I am (I'm an Aries, after all), I still wasn't about to lose all that expensive toothpaste. So I cleaned up the mess on the outside, scooped out enough gel to leave adequate headroom and slapped the lid back on. Mission accomplished (though I must admit that pushing hard enough to make that tight-fitting lid seal brings an agony all its own).

Thinking about repetitive strain injuries reminds me of another problem: After reading books on my Kindle as often as I do - it's not unusual for me to finish one over the course of two days depending on its length and my free time - it wasn't long before I started noticing a little pain and weakness in my thumb joint. Almost immediately, I suspected the right-hand push button that turns the Kindle pages might be the culprit - and a little online research revealed it's a relatively common malady called "Kindle thumb." 

Thankfully, that problem was solved when I received a Kindle Fire last Christmas. But that, too, didn't come without a bit of frustration; if I didn't remember to alternate fingertips when I tapped the screen to turn the pages, the one I used got a little bit sore. Solving that problem cost me about 12 bucks for a stylus, but now I'm waiting to see if I develop cramps from holding that in my fingers.

Don't even get me started on those "child-proof" push-and-twist containers that prescription drugs come in; especially when they're smaller than a couple of inches in diameter, it's impossible to get them open. But since I know I can ask my pharmacist for easy-to-open bottles, I'll give them a pass - in theory, they do offer a measure of safety to folks who have curious youngsters around.

But what about those foil-lined packs that require you to push the pills through to dispense one? That bleepin' foil must be industrial strength, because no matter how hard I push, the pill can't break through (or if it does, chances are it comes out in crumbles). It's so bad that I've resorted to keeping pairs of scissors in my purse and all over the house for just such occasions - having to fight for 20 minutes to get an Immodium out of the package when you need one (think in the bathroom in the middle of the night) isn't amusing in the least.

Then there's the can-opener challenge. I've had an electric model for years because my hands just aren't strong enough to use a manual version. But that doesn't help when I must open a large can, like the tomato juice I use as a slow-cooker base for chili or vegetable soup. They're too tall to fit under most electric can openers, so I've always grabbed a church key to punch a hole on opposite sides of the can, thus allowing what's inside to pour out easily.

No more. Can tops seem to have become punch resistant - and no regulation-size church key (the kind we use to use to open beer bottles) can make a dent. In fact - back when I had enough strength in my wrist - I've bent at least one almost in half trying to punch a hole that never did happen. My only resort was calling for reinforcement in the form of a husband, who sometimes - but not always - managed to get the job done.

Finally, I bought a monster church key - I swear it's a foot long and so tough Uri Geller would lose his mind trying to bend it. Now, at least most of the time, I'm able to get holes in the can tops that are big enough to allow the liquid inside to run out.

And so it goes; almost every week something new comes along that needs opening or closing that challenges my old body parts to their limits and beyond. Clearly, products today are designed only for the young.

Or Is It Just Me?

Home in My Beginning

Editor's note: This essay is written by guest blogger Joy Rector of Columbus, Ohio.

My father was the head of the family. "Is that still true of family life? The man of the house being the head of the family, the leader, the comfort, the strength?"

Those early years, the ones they call "formative," were more on the perfect side than any other part of my life. I want to paint a picture for you. Let’s see, what is the best part -- there were truly so many.

"Mom, what’s for dinner?" I yelled as I came in the door and tossed my books on the blue overstuffed sofa by the front room door. From the kitchen, she said, "Meat loaf and baked potatoes." I could just picture her in her crisply starched and ironed apron. I probably didn’t need to ask her what we were having if I had paid attention and sniffed the air a little more -- I would have known it was meatloaf. It’s aroma would have been just under the other aroma of baking apples.

Walking in the door that afternoon, and most others, the feeling of softness and warm comfort encircled me with each step through the open door. When I strolled through the dining room into the kitchen I saw that mom’s hair was still damp around the edges from her afternoon bath. Her clean and freshly ironed house dress, one-inch heels, fresh face powder and lipstick were signs that she was expecting my dad coming home any minute.

Mom said, "The plates are on the table -- will you put the silverware out?" I reached in the partitioned drawer where the silverware was kept. "Where are Sue and Carla?" I asked as I counted out six forks, six spoons and six knives. Our family was slightly extended from dad, mom, my sister and I to include my dad’s niece, Ginny, and her ten-year-old daughter, Carla. They had lived with us for about five years. Mom guided our daily activities while both Ginny and my dad were at work. "Carla is upstairs and Sue is in the back yard playing ball with Reggie," mom said. 

"We could put Reg on his leash and walk down to the bus stop to meet Ginny," I answered.

"Not now -- it’s to close to dinner and she should be on coming in the door any minute anyway," mom countered.

When I was putting the silver out, I glanced of the breakfast nook window and saw that dad was pulling the car into the garage. Dad worked two jobs. He was a city firefighter, on duty 24 hours and off duty for 48 hours and had a second job on his days off. That job changed from time to time, when he was a taxi driver, television repair person, meat cutter and cook in a fancy restaurant. In one of our family conversations he said, "I will always have a job to take care of my family. If it would mean digging ditches or flipping hamburgers, I will work."

In a few minutes, the back door slammed as dad came in with Sue and Reg following at his heels. At about the same time I heard the front door open and Ginny coming in too. Carla must have seen her coming as she watched out the upstairs window, because I could hear her running down the stairs.

"I’ll be right back -- I’m going to wash my hands and change my clothes," I shouted as I jogged from the breakfast nook. As I went through the living room I circled the coffee table, passed the bulky box enclosing the television set by the steps, turned at the twist in the stairs and went up the steps two at a time. About ten minutes later I raced back down the steps and joined everybody else, all of whom were heading in the same direction.

Dinner ready, and everybody was home from their activities, home for rest and family. It was time for dinner, time for conversation, catching up on each others days and bonding that would last a lifetime and beyond.

A TREATISE ON TP

Is It Just Me, or do we get more full of it as we get older? 

Case in point: TP. Or more specifically, how much of it we use now that it's just the two of us. I do realize we've gained some weight over the years, which most likely means we're exercising less and eating more. And it's perfectly natural that a good bit of what goes in must come out - so logic tells me it will be in larger quantities. 

Still, I remember when our bathrooms got plenty of use from two healthy adults and two growing (and always hungry) kids. Back then, I'm sure that the amount we spent on toilet paper was barely a blip on our overall grocery spending radar. Fast forward to now, though, when it's all systems go and our TP budget is threatening to wipe out my already meager Social Security earnings.

Actually, thinking about that tissue issue brought to mind related concerns, so now I'm on a roll. For starters, how is the word "tissue" correctly pronounced? I recall a mention of how a proper lady should speak it in a book I read a very long time ago - I've forgotten which one it was, but was something akin to Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights. Is it "teesh-shoo," or "tiss-you?" was the weighty question. Alas, I don't remember which was deemed socially correct, but then I've never been diagnosed as anything close to a proper lady (heck, if I were, would I be discussing this in public)? So I figure it doesn't make much difference one way or the other. If it matters to you, though, I'm in the teesh-shoo camp; blame it on my hillbilly roots).

What about over or under? When a reader poses that question to household hint guru Heloise every once in a while, the topic goes viral; the roll absolutely must be hung so the sheets are pulled from underneath the back, one contingent argues. A pox on your house if your sheets don't fall on the outside of the roll, the other counters.

This is such a hot-button topic, in fact, that I'm surprised it hasn't become a plank in political platforms. Think about it: The conservatives could insist that directionality is ordained by God, and the liberals might profess that overages should be eliminated. Middle-of-the-roaders, meantime, might conclude that regulating what happens in the privacy of our homes is just too over the top.

Since I've been on both sides of this one, I'll share my strategy for letting it all hang out. My late mother, bless her heart, was in the "under" camp; all my growing up life (well, at least after my handyman dad installed indoor plumbing and eliminated the need for corncobs and Sears catalogs), I reached behind the TP roll to satisfy my need. But once I got married and had bathrooms of my own, I turned my sheets to the other wind. For reasons that shall always be unknown to me (although a shrink likely would point out that daughterly rebellion isn't a far-fetched notion), I hung mine with the tail draped over the outside.

Still other perplexities hang heavy on my mind: Is it more economical to buy one-ply or two? One-ply rolls are cheaper, but it takes considerably more to get the job done. Quilted or plain? Despite the fact that quilted is more expensive (or maybe because of it), advertisers would have us believe the fake stitching will keep us feeling "fresh." But truth is, I haven't seen enough benefits to justify paying extra just to see cute little squiggles staring back at me during my daily constitutional.

None of this, of course, really answers the question of why we're using twice the amount we did in the good old days. And now that I really think about it, the cause of the whole thing isn't what's got me down in the dumps -- it's that I hate eating tuna casserole a couple of extra times a month so our shekels will stretch far enough to pay for something as mundane as TP. Somehow, that just doesn't seem like a fair trade-off.

So I'll head straight to the bottom line and go with the notion I started with -- that we get more full of it as we age.

Or Is It Just Me?

Discounts Pulling Disappearing Act?

Is It Just Me, or is there a concerted effort from the business community to fight back at consumers who are trying to save a little money? I'm referring to discount coupons, BOGO specials, "loyalty" deals and similar enticements that have become relatively standard over the past couple of years but seem to be dwindling down to next to nothing of late.


Consider those great offers those of us who signed up for loyalty cards and e-mail "clubs" from retail establishments from department stores to restaurants to drugstores. Not that long ago, just about every week we'd get a printable coupon for a buy one, get one free meal. Over the past few months, though, those offers have all but disappeared; if we get anything besides announcements of revamped menus and "exciting" new meals we're sure to love, it's an offer of one free appetizer or dessert - which you get only if you buy two regular-price entrees (and sometimes two beverages as well). Even the venerable Restaurant.com, which used to sell $25 gift certificates for as low as $2 before "restocking," rarely goes much below $5 any more.


Coupons aren't faring much better. Despite the obnoxious TV pitches from sickingly peppy, perky Coupon Suzy to go to her website and print your little heart out, some notable retailers, like Giant Eagle, now refuse to accept Internet coupons. And in an ad flyer in a recent newspaper, Kmart proclaimed it will double manufacturers' coupons. I was ready to run out the door till I read the fine print - to qualify for coupon doubling, customers must spend a minimum of $25, and a maximum of five coupons can be redeemed at a time.


So what gives? So far, nobody on the retail end is talking, so all I can do is speculate. It's true that online-printed coupons are more easily and conveniently reproduced, and they're more readily available than waiting for snail mail offerings or those in the ad flyers. Beyond that, I can't think of any reason not to accept them except to slow down their use.


The same is true for the limits on coupon doubling; if a customer has 25 coupons with face values of 50 cents each and purchases the required items, why on earth should he or she not be allowed to use them? Here, too, I'm speculating; maybe there are too many folks getting too many freebies (and bragging about it), or maybe checkout clerks simply have had it with the time it takes to match purchases with coupons and get it right. Thus, it's not happening for the benefit of consumers, but rather the retailers.


As for the restaurant deals, I suspect the growing influence of websites like Groupon, LivingSocial and local online promotions like MyValleyDeals are ursurping the old BOGO deals. The why isn't clear here, either. Typically, companies that partner with sites like Groupon coupons give buyers half off the face value; the retailer is responsible for providing the buyer with the whole enchillada. Groupon keeps half of the amount paid by buyers, a benefit to the retailer ostensibly because Groupon and its ilk have a far larger marketing reach than a business and thus can tap a greater number of potential customers.


To be fair, I've read that business interest in these daily deals sites is waning, in large part because they often fail to produce the hoped-for results. Instead of reeling in satisfied customers who will return again (and again) and pay full freight, the deals are creating customers like us. It's true, as least in my case, that I tend to look for deals for products and services my husband and I already love - as at favorite restaurants we frequent anyway - so there's no reeling in to be done. And as for returning to places we discovered as a result of the discount, there's probably a 75% chance we won't, and nearly 100% against it unless we have another coupon.


Besides that, we're reluctant to plunk down ten bucks or for a $20 meal at a restaurant we've never been to (or heard of). More than once, we drove past one for which we'd received a "deal" offer to see if we should hurry back home and snap it up - only to keep right on driving because the place looked like it belonged in a ghetto. Once burned, twice shy - so any business that offers less than a stellar anything can kiss another opportunity goodbye (and had better hope that the disgruntled customer doesn't have a Facebook or Twitter account).


Fact is, we've been thoroughly coupon-conditioned. As one of our friends asked recently, "When was the last time you ate out without having a coupon?" And our answer, like theirs, was "We really can't remember." If we ain't got a fairly substantial price cut, chances are we ain't buying.


That, I suspect, is the real bottom line and the biggest reason retailers are trying their damndest to wean shoppers away from sales and discounts. But will it work? I have my doubts. Retail giant JCPenney ran into sales troubles as customers have turned their backs on its new "Fair and Square" pricing (and hardly ever any sales). Penney officials have claimed the policy "confused" customers; I say baloney - they know exactly what's going on. Just like discounts, customers have become conditioned to sales; further, in their heart of hearts they really don't believe that the "lowest everyday price" really is.


Truly, I do sympathize with businesses, especially the moms-and-pops who have trouble making a profit even when the economy is good. But bad times is what we're having now (and by most accounts it won't get much better for quite some time), and businesses that make it through will have to do whatever it takes to entice customers to buy. To be sure, it's a challenge - much as it was when Walmart hit the ground running and caught the little guys off guard. And just as Walmart didn't go away, neither will consumers' demand for the discounts to which we've become accustomed. Phasing them out just doesn't seem a smart way to go.


Or Is It Just Me?

Got Asthma? Inhale This!

Is It Just Me, or are we faced with yet another medical "gotcha?"


Specifically, I'm referring to asthma inhalers. After suffering endless bouts with bronchitis and asthma throughout my growing-up years, finally I found something I considered to be nothing short of a miracle: Spray "rescue" inhalers like Primatine Mist that contained epinephrine. In recent years, generic brands have come on the market, like CVS. The cost was quite manageable; the most I ever paid for an entire new device was about $23, and refills were even less expensive. I always had two - one to carry in my purse and another for in the house.


Color those days gone. As of Dec. 31, 2011, these inhalers were banned from sale to American consumers. The reason? Because they use chlorofluorocarbons (commonly called CFCs), as a propellant. That, it seems, violates an international agreement requiring phase-out of all products that can damage the Earth's ozone layer.


This edict comes despite the fact that it's really, really hard to imagine how the CFCs in these inhalers -- even if every person on earth who owned one took a squirt at the same time -- could do serious damage. In fact, the spray is held close to the mouth and inhaled as it comes out, so my guess is virtually all those CFCs are going into our bodies, not floating up to the ozone (but apparently no one seems to care that it might damage people).


My real beef, though, isn't with that; it's what consumers who need inhalers are now forced to use -- the first of which is that it's albuterol, not ephinephrine. I'll admit I was skeptical at first, but I'd be the first to say that while albuterol doesn't work as quickly or effectively, it's a satisfactory substitute. But the second is far more egregious: There are no generics, and all available options require a doctor's prescription.


Oh well, I said -- my insurance covers all of the inhaler brands now on the market, so by the time I paid the $15 co-pay for a doctor's visit (a "regular" one anyway, so I'd have to pay it whether or not I got a prescription for an inhaler), and the usual $10 co-pay still would put the cost close to those old OTC inhalers.


Could I have been more wrong? Imagine my astonishment when I learned the cost to me for a single inhaler -- for those with insurance -- is slightly over $40! To add insult to injury, insurance covers only a limited number of inhalers each year (much as dental insurance covers cleaning only twice a year, so if you need a third, it comes out of your own pocket even if the dentist orders it).


But wait, there's more. I'm lucky (so far) in that my use of an inhaler is very intermittant, except perhaps in especially bothersome allergy seasons like fall or when I visit friends and relatives who have cats and dogs. Each inhaler contains exactly 200 metered puffs, and the doctor-ordered amount (if needed) is two puffs three times a day. I'm lousy at math, but if I used it to that full extent, a single inhaler would last about a month. Since the insurance will pay for only about four a year, making up the other eight would be more than a bit costly. 


Quite honestly, unless my symptoms get much worse, we won't have to eat Ramen noodles every night for a month to save up for my inhalers. But it's hard to imagine that all the folks who need inhalers have insurance, meaning they must pay not only for a doctor's visit but the entire cost of the inhaler. And based on the limited refills for those who do have insurance, anyone who needs an inhaler much more often than I do is out of luck as well.


It's nothing short of highway robbery and yet another consumer health-care rip-off. Or Is It Just Me?