Hubby Had A Serious Question For Me
a guide on how to answer this important question
When hubby-Jeffrey turned 62 he came to me with a crucial question. We were in the bathroom, it was bedtime and I had just finished flossing. His brows were turned inward and he huffed quickly like a bull about to stampede. But he was motionless, humorless in his sincerity.
“What is it, honey,” l asked, concerned, shaking the sticky dental floss off my fingers into the garbage can.
“Can you teach me how to wash my face?”
I gasped with excitement. “You’re ready?”
“I’m ready.”
“Oh honey,” I said and threw my arms around him.
You would think he had asked me to renew our vows.
I pushed up my jammie sleeves and spat in the sink as there was a lingering sesame seed from dinner.
“Okay. Rule number one. Shampoo running down your face in the shower is not the same as washing your face,” I said—and had been saying this for 32 years, even during his 20s when he was an actor and all the other guys had an edge in the competition because they were using Clinique.
“But shampoo is a soap—”
“Rule number two. Don’t argue with a woman who has been cleansing since that first zit at 13.”
“Okay.”
“Rule number three. Know your ‘Why,’” I said, drawing out the word.
“I’m getting older, and my skin isn’t as forgiving as it used to be.”
“You sound like an ad for Oil of Olay, but that’s okay. As long as you feel it-- under your skin.” I took a breath, hesitated to ask this next question. “Have you tried any of my products?”
“I used your body lotion on my face,” he said sheepishly, “But I broke out like a Bar Mitzvah boy.”
“Yeah no. Body lotion is too heavy. No wonder you looked like you were about to sing a Haftorah.”1
“I don’t know where to begin. There are hundreds,” he said, his voice shook at the “h.”
Reader, I was stumped. Women’s skin care I knew about. Men’s? I had to investigate.
This was a job for my laptop
I scrolled and scrolled on Google, Safari, Duck Duck Go. Kiel’s kept popping up. They’ve been around since 1933. I remembered a Kiel’s regimen being my first foray into skin care. I wasn’t thrilled with the products but figured they might be good for a man. I mean guys are uncomplicated. Jeans and a clean tee and bingo, they look good. Their skin regimen should be simple too. Right?
“Here. Kiel’s makes a nice light men’s cleanser and moisturizer. Facial Fuel. Sounds energizing. You’ll like. And you won’t need Clearasil. Remember Clearasil?”
Jeffrey shrugged, humbled by this new diet for the face.
I remembered my middle school “blemish” years. Unlike the belly button, zits were a different kind of innie and outtie. The outties were unpredictable. It was hard to know when they were ready to pop. Too soon and it would engorge. You’d f-ck it up. Too late and it would explode and bleed. The innies had to go away on their own. A hot compress sometimes worked but Clearasil was my go-to spot killer. I didn’t care that the tint didn’t match my skin tone AT ALL. It looked like Silly Putty on my face. But, it would dry out those “pox upon me” like toasted Melba.
Don’t ew me, dear Reader. Admit it. You loved popping your own zits, spots, pustules, boils... It was satisfying. There’s even a hit reality streaming series on it! (Dr. Pimple Popper.) It’s just gross when someone else does it—or writes/talks about it. Like breaking wind. It’s okay when you do it. The smell doesn’t bother you. You chuckle at the funny sound it makes. But when someone else lets-it-fly, you say, “That’s disgusting!” (Except your dog. Your dog can do no wrong. His butt-breeze is adorable.)
But zits?
You’d get off the school bus, slither in through the front door so mom didn’t know you were home yet, and you’d hide in the bathroom for the next hour, squeezing... and horrified because your middle school crush said “Hi” to you and you’re positive he was staring at the pink volcano on your chin for the entire 2 seconds as you passed in the quad.
Hubby shrugged and bought himself his first ever skin care duo kit.
“I paid $10 for expedited shipping,” he said.
“You waited like 45 years to wash your face. What’s the hurry?”
“You forbad me from using the body lotion and my skin is dry.”
“Use my face moisturizer.”
“It’s for women.”
“You do know that 99% of the ingredients are the same. They just ad musk for the men and put women’s cream in a pink jar.”
“Really? Okay. I’ll use your stuff until I get my own.”
“I’ll make room in the cabinet for your new bottles.”
“No,” Jeffrey said anxiously. Then looked away, embarrassed. “If it’s hidden, I’ll forget to use it. Leave them on the counter and when I go on auto pilot then you can put them away.”
How to wash your face
The skin care arrived, bottles unwrapped, annoying nail-breaking foil lids pulled off and Jeffrey needed help.
“What do I do?”
“What do you mean? Wash your face.”
“Do I add water?”
I paused. I had cleansed so often I had to think. Then—
“Yeah, put about a dime? size of the cleanser into your palm add a tad of water and rub it on your face.”
“What’s a ‘tad?’ Like, a tablespoon?”
“Maybe three quarters of a tablespoon.”
He followed my instructions and I scrutinized his maneuvers. He finished and dripped over the sink like a dog that just lapped up an entire bowl of water.
“Now dry it off.” I handed him a towel.
“Like this?”
He rubbed the towel up and down.
“No, you want to blot dry.”
“Oh, okay. Like this?”
He dabbed.
“Now the moisturizer.”
“I think I can do the rest on my own.”
“Want me to help you with your times tables? Read you ‘Pancakes, Pancakes?’ Tuck you in?”
After a week of Jeffrey washing his face, I inspected his pores. “They look good. How does your skin feel?”
“I might be ready for a serum.”
“How do you know about serum?”
“I snuck a look at your bottles. What can I say? You look good, honey.”
As with any compliment, a kiss and an “aw” was in order. I debated in my mind if I should take advantage of this learning opportunity and press further. I didn’t want to overplay my hand, but I went for it anyway.
“How about I show you how to fold a shirt properly.”
One Year Later
“Are you still using the Keil’s?” I asked as I noticed the liquid in the bottles was not depleting.
“I don’t really like it,” Jeffrey said.
“Oh, sweetie.”
I realized that the skin care company I had been using for years also had a men’s line. I ordered. I won’t tell him that Beauty Pie doesn’t discern between gender-cliche-colored jars.
I can’t end this essay without a shout out to
. Not only is she an amazing writer, interviewer, video director/editor, but she has a skin care business that she never promotes. I found out about it by accident in the comments at who had a fab article about the skin microbiome. Here’s Kimberly’s Substack and a link to her skin care site.Other skin care guru’s outside of Substack—
My friend, Joanne Goughan knows about skin care and is running a skin care business while raising a sweetie-girl with Down Syndrome. Her IG shares how she juggles.
And my buddy from 9th grade, Coco Ridgway (the best name ever) tries every skin care product on the market so you won’t have to.
I love getting to know you in the comments…
Guys (and gals, but mostly guys, and custom)—do you use actual facial cleanser or is shampoo your go-to rinse?
Did you ever use Clearasil?
Were your middle school years as awful as mine?
Haftorah— is the special portion of the Torah read (or memorized) by the Bar Mitzvah boy (or girl) who must chant in front of all family and friends and an entire congregation and who is not only dealing with blemishes but a changing, cracking voice. Think Peter Brady in the Brady Bunch episode, Dough Re Mi.
I washed my face once
But I do shave every morning with an actual razor, rinse off the shaving cream and use a lotion afterward. Does that count?
Well, I don't know. This is hilarious, but: what's wrong with soap? The only lotions I've ever tried are camomile lotion that my mum plastered on me when I was a child and itchy, and suntan lotion which made me look like a ghost or Queen Liz the First. I hated both of them. I can't even stand aftershave. Shaving cream is ok cos it gets washed off after five seconds. Anyway, who has that amount of time? We know someone who was covered in zits, and the more gunk she put on her face the more zits she got. Do you know I once had a letter published in a teen girl's magazine complaining about the amount of make-up girls slapped on? I can still remember the letter now, as it was one of my first literary works. Anyway, thanks for a very guffaw-inducing post.