Calamine: (n) a soothing lotion or ointment consisting primarily of zinc oxide
Such was my case at age fourteen.
I found myself in the wilderness of Oklahoma, which literally had no civilization other than a few locals, who believed that God had placed them on top of this mountain because they were “The Chosen People.”
The solitude and seclusion opened the door to the possibility of skinny dipping. I would never skinny dip anywhere other than an ice-cold stream in the Oklahoma wilderness, around a bunch of friends who were equally as intimidated by the whole experience and so desperately tried not to look at one another’s peckers.
The bank descending to the creek was very steep, so unless you planned on leaping into the water (which as my friend, Bill, found out, was like breaking ice) you had to ease your way down–or as I found out, just slide.
There was vegetation everywhere, so I used that greenery as a moistening agent for my backside, to make the slip to the water more pleasant.
Now, moving ahead: it was two days later, on the drive back from Oklahoma, that I noticed that my rear end was extremely hot and itchy. When I arrived home, after rubbing my butt on the back seat the entire trip, I discovered that from the middle of my back to my ankles, I was covered with poison something.
The doctor couldn’t identify it. He said it was a little like poison oak, sumac and ivy all mixed together.
It would not go away. I was thoroughly convinced that I was going to have to explain the condition to my future wife on our wedding night.
Then somebody suggested calamine lotion. It’s not that the calamine healed this poison condition, but it covered up all the sores and seeping places, and eventually they just dried up and went away.
My mother, who loved to keep track of such thing, maintained that I went through 81 bottles of calamine lotion.
Since that day I have never used calamine again.
But I am very grateful that they came up with the product, and I hope they are equally as satisfied with me purchasing 81 bottles.