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?