Hubby
bought a 38-ounce bottle of ketchup two summers ago when I wasn’t around to
supervise. The stamped expiration date is April 28, 2016, but it hasn’t turned
blue, and it smells okay, so I’m not going to waste it by throwing it away. The last time we bought
a gigantic bottle of ketchup was in 1992 when both kids lived at home and the
four of us smothered it on everything from eggs to calves liver (another story I might have written about in one of my blogs about dieting.).
My children
used to get a big chuckle out of rummaging through my refrigerator and pointing
out the jars and packages that had expired. At first I was embarrassed by their
mockery, but then I read an article about expiration dates being pointless.
Reference this video that explains why. Personally, I believe the expiration
date stamp is so food companies can sell more of their products. Instead of
worrying about the date stamped on the sweet pickles, I rely on a very dependable
source . . . my nose . . . and I have a pretty accurate sniffer. The nose
knows! As for my left overs not injected with preservatives, I secure them in
my 20-year old Tupperware and mark the date on a piece of masking tape. Okay,
so I’m a little OCD . . . I’m comfortable with that.
There are
other things that have expiration dates . . . here are just a few:
High Heels
Wearing
high heels definitely expire after three hours. Any longer than that will
deaden the balls of your feet, and your ankles will tip over. When I was a
teller in a bank, I tortured my little doggies by wearing those plastic high
heels from Payless Shoes for eight hours . . . a ridiculously long time. I would slip them off periodically during the day, but then my swollen
feet would cry, and I’d end up walking to the car after work like I’d just
dumped in my pants. I’ve wised up in my old age and have replaced my high heels
with flip-flops to protect my attractive bunions the heels caused.
Cocktail Parties
My
expiration date for a cocktail party is about two hours. I’m not one for small
talk, which lasts for about five minutes when you begin the conversation with
“Boy, it sure is hot.” I usually end up talking to Ms. Diarrhea Mouth and
getting trapped by the wall as I casually take small steps backwards away from
her. If I’m at a friend’s house, I can circulate for about one hour, and then
I’m in the kitchen cleaning up. Recently we’ve been what I call “running with the
big dogs.” Let me explain. Hubby is a terrific golfer, so all the guys want to
play with him in order to get some free tips. Golf attracts some pretty
influential people, and occasionally we are invited to small gatherings hosted
by the country club elite. The other night we went to an engagement party at
someone’s lake cabin. This “cabin” is about three times the size of our modest
home, and I’d have to take out a loan to buy the hand towels on display in
their “powder room.” After about one hour I tired of comments such as “I lunched
with an old friend in Paris last week, then flew to Morocco for a quick visit
with the king,” or “You’ll have to come by for a cruise on our new pontoon I
just ordered. It has leather seats and a wet bar.” They have no intention of
inviting Trailer Trash Trixie for a cruise on their Cadillac pontoon, so I mentally planned a
grocery list for my big visit to Central Market the next day.
Hair Color
Six weeks
is the maximum expiration date to attack the roots, five weeks is optimal. I’ve
been coloring my hair for almost thirty years. I think my original color is somewhere
within a dark brown hue, but I have a hunch it’s pretty much all grey now.
Going to a stylist gets pretty expensive, but if I tried to color my own hair
I’d drip more brown on the dog than I would on my roots. Once the roots start
to show, it’s all over. The grey sprouting from my colic can be very subtle at
five weeks, but it becomes a neon sign on the 36th day.
I only worry
about expiration dates when it involves my comfort, my ADD, or my vanity. Food?
Eh, not so much. That’s what my nose and Pepto Bismol are for.
