My sister Laura reminded me recently about the “split ends” phenomenon of our youth. As she said, the shampoo and conditioner companies made millions by convincing insecure teenager girls that their hair, if not properly cared for using their products, would develop split ends. Somehow, the magic elixir that was their conditioner would knit these raveled ends back together, leading to a multimillion-dollar modeling gig and a world tour. We lapped it up, spending hours examining the ends of our hair with a magnifying glass.

“This is entirely your imagination,” said our mother.

“Look! A split end!” one of us would cry at the same moment.

Some years ago I was walking through the downtown mall in Anchorage, waiting for a flight home. There are many kiosks in this mall, all with earnest young people ready to draw you in and give you a sample or a flier.

One such kiosk had the answer to forever-youthful skin. The hawker, a slender young man with a Russian accent, flagged me down, perhaps recognizing me as the type that hates to hurt people’s feelings, even when they are trying to fleece me.

This young man zeroed in on my under-eye bags, tsking away, bringing his tube of fix-it gel with a flourish. He talked me into applying some of it in that shadowy place below my eyes. Was it a trick of the light? Did the tube contain super glue? As I looked in the mirror, the shadows under my eyes had indeed receded.

“How much?” I asked. “Four ninety-nine, ma’am,” he replied. “Four dollars and ninety-nine cents?” I exclaimed. “I’ll take three!” “Oh, no, ma’am,” he replied. “This is four hundred and ninety-nine dollars! Usually it is six-ninety-nine, but for you, so lovely, we are making an exception!”

My desire to make everybody happy went briefly into abeyance, and I got out of there as fast as I could, jabbering excuses.

As I fled down the aisle, I could hear his plaintive little voice calling, “Oh, why not, ma’am? Why not?”

Why not indeed. Let me count the ways.