#674 Yanks in Vermont

Inherent, I suppose, in the notion of writing a daily essay, is that sometimes one hits the bottom of the idea barrel.
Fortunately, I consider the bottom of the barrel one of the most interesting places there is, and am only to happy to scrape off the gunk and dwell on it.
Plumbing the depths of the mundane is what I’m all about.
As a for instance, I was going through my medicine cabinet the other day and chanced across a gift someone had once got me as a Christmas stocking stuffer.
It was a small green-colored cubical tin upon which were emblazoned the words “Bag Balm.”
Underneath those letters was a small line drawing that at first looked like a representation of the fleshed-covered receptacle that loosely houses the male gamete producing organs.
Upon closer examination, that imagined sketch turned out to be an outline of a fainter sketch which represented the udder and teats of a cow. One’s first conclusion, that this Bag Balm was intended for an inflammation of some underwear-related chafing interface issue, was replaced by the even odder realization that a remedy was once devised for inflammation of a cow’s udder.
Still, the brief instructions next to the deceptive drawing contributed to the inherent humor in the aforementioned conclusion jump.
It said, “Massage thoroughly and allow ointment to stay on for full softening effect.”
The more thorough directions on another side of the tin were a mini-lesson in describing challenges rarely faced by us 21st century urbanites. “Bag balm has been the farmers’ friend, helping keep dairy cows from becoming chapped in the harsh Vermont environment. Thoroughly wash teats and udder with separate towels. Apply bag balm freely and massage gently twice daily.”
Okay, scrotile diagram aside, this tin was definitely meant for cow maintenance.
Then I had to wonder again whether the whole product really was yanking me in some way, as the instructions finished with this statement and disclaimer, “It’s like having another hand on the farm. Keep this and all medications away from children.”
Oh yeah, nothing like a “hand on the farm,” if you know what I mean.
America, ya gotta love it