One of my Facebook friends posted this video over the weekend. I'm not a huge fan of "miracle cures" but I had to admit this one got my attention. Let's watch, shall we?
An onion. In my sock. At bedtime.
With all due respect to Chinese medicine and people who wholeheartedly embrace homeopathy, I am looking for love in middle-age with a special needs child as part of the package. Dating is hard enough without adding an onion in my socks.
Picture the scene: A hopeful string of dates and texts and phone conversations lasting late into the night, my eyes lighting up when I open the door, the dinner carefully laid out on the table with candles and wine and music in the background. We adjourn upstairs for some romance and then in the afterglow. . .
I tell him I'll be right back because I have to put an onion in my socks. Or worse, I reach into the side table drawer that I've converted to an onion bin and start slicing away as he stares at me with wide, incredulous eyes.
Maybe I'll get lucky and find the guy with the onion fetish.
If it's all the same to you, I'll take my multivitamin, then stick with my lavender foot balm and call it a night.