Chick Wit: Energizing trends in personal care

Walt Whitman said, I sing the body electric.

So do I, Walt.

Because now I have an electronic face washer.

And it changed my life.

Looking back, my initiation into the electronic era started with an electronic toothbrush. It was recommended by my dental hygienist, as she was sandblasting my teeth.

"Buy one," she said, from behind her surgical mask. For me, she needs a surgical helmet. When my plaque starts flying, it's like shrapnel.

But at the time, the idea of an electronic toothbrush seemed crazy, because I used a toothbrush powered by my flabby arms.

"Not good enough," she said. "Make sure you get the kind that says Elite."

So I brought the Elite toothbrush, took it home, and brushed my teeth. I used it for a month, driving it around my teeth, back and forth, up and down, producing lots of foamy suds. I saw some difference, and so did the dogs, who stopped complaining about my breath.

Dogs hate people breath.

So I was primed for the ads I began to see for an electronic face washer. I snapped one up as soon as it became available, even though it wasn't cheap.


Because I can't be expected to wash my face all by myself.

That would be free, easy, and normal.

Also I read that the electronic face washer exfoliates your skin, and as all women know, exfoliate is the magic word.

We're talking pores, not napalm.

This is exfoliating, but in a good way, if you follow.

The face washer promised to polish off the dead skin on my face, and as such, it was calling my name, because my dead skin is really piling up. I might be a foot deep in dead skin, like new-fallen snow, you could stick a ruler in it and measure accumulation levels.

Come to think of it, maybe I could use that snowblower, after all.

But to stay on point, I bought an electronic washer, which came in a set, one for the face and one for the body.

I gave the body one to Daughter Francesca, of course. I don't care about dead skin anywhere but where people can see it, and it goes without saying that nobody is seeing dead skin on my body.

Also I can't be bothered. I don't even shave my legs anymore. I wait until winter.

For this reason, I will never move to California or Florida. I tell people I like the seasons, but what I really like is not bothering.

Anyway, I started using the electronic face washer, driving it around my face, back and forth, up and down, producing lots of foamy suds.

Foam = fun.

And miraculously, my skin began to look less dead. I said as much to Francesca, who loved it, too. But then she watched me wash my face, and smiled.

"Mom, you don't have to move it around when you use it."

"What?" I blinked.

"Just hold it still. Did you read the directions?"

"Of course not. How long have you known me?" I never read the directions. I spent my whole life following directions, and now I can't be bothered. See? Told you.

"All you have to do with the face washer is hold it still. It's sonic."

"No, it's not, it's electronic." I rinsed my face, confused.

"It's powered by electricity, but it moves itself, sonically. It's made by Sonicare. It's sonic, like your toothbrush. You don't move that around, do you?"

"Sure. Up and down, over and out, lots of suds. Fun, fun, fun."

"You don't have to. Just hold it still and it does the work. Sonic."

I looked at the toothbrush and face washer, and realized that Francesca was right. It said Sonicare, but I had gotten distracted by the Elite.

Sorry, Walt.

I sing the body, supersonic.

Look for Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella's humorous essay collection, "Best Friends, Occasional Enemies: The Lighter Side of Life as a Mother and Daughter," coming in paperback Sept. 18. Also look for Lisa's recently published novel, "Come Home." Visit Lisa at