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My mom believes in elbow grease, bacon grease and not being fleeced.

When I breathlessly recounted my brush with big-ticket beauty products lo’ those many years ago, she harrumphed her incredulity.

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While going to university, I flogged high-end cosmetics at Eaton’s department store. A well-groomed woman came in asking for a particular face cream. She took two. They were priced at $135.

Each.

I thought an armed escort to her car was in order.

When I told my mom that the cream must be worth the price as the woman looked pretty damned fine, she suggested that other factors might be in play. If she could afford to drop close to $300 on face cream, there was a good chance that there was a phalanx of people in service to her handsome appearance and leisure. My mom advocated, instead, for olive oil. Despite mom’s skepticism, I knew in my heart of hearts, what separated the great beauties from the also-rans, was really pricey face cream. And one day, I was gonna get me some.