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El Hubbo's Snake Oil Remedy

In previous posts you may have read about El Hubbo’s bad hip and the saga of will we or won’t we have a hip replacement. Given that the doctors have decided to wait on such intrusive treatments, El Hubbo was at a loss for what to do next.


As word spread of his agony, a colleague of his told him about something he uses. Now, understand that we are talking about a group of people who treat animals for various and a sundry ailments, so when El Hubbo came home telling me about this miracle cure, I was immediately skeptical.

He gives me this website and says, can you check this out? Alrighty. I go to the site, and it is all in Spanish. This is what I would consider a red flag. I tell El Hubbo, perhaps you should have a doctor check this out. (Secretly, I am thinking he’s lost his mind. I WAS NOT going to order drugs from a website I couldn’t even understand.)

In a display of unusually cooperative behavior, El Hubbo tells his doctor about this miracle drug. The doctor tells him it looks fine and won’t contradict the medications he’s already on. Apparently it is all herbal. Thanks, Doc. Lots of things can be called “herbal” – doesn’t mean it is a good idea to order it from a website you can’t read.

El Hubbo, who by this time had conned someone else to join his guinea pig scheme, instructs me to order him some pills. I went back to the website and played a guessing game of what to enter in what blank. Apparently, I did alright as the pills showed up in five days. I consider us quite fortunate that they weren’t delivered by the FBI.

El Hubbo and his fellow guinea pig start taking the pills and decide that these things might be the Cure All of the Ages. Both had been cranky old men who could barely rise from a chair to find the tv remotes. Now, they are practically turning back flips and putting on squatting demonstrations for all who care to watch.

As time to reorder neared, El Hubbo had marketed the benefits of his Cure All Snake Oil Herbal Remedy to all who would listen. He tells me we’ll be upping our order. Great, I think. I probably just dodged one bullet, now you are going to make me run that gauntlet again. He collects money and tells me to place the order. So, being the good, obedient wife, I do.

The order didn’t come and didn’t come. El Hubbo is almost out of pills, and he’s getting cranky again. We get a message from FedEx that a signature will be required when the package is delivered, and I could arrange to pick it up at a FedEx store. I turn to El Hubbo and tell him that so help me, if the DEA is waiting on me when I go pick it up, I will sing like a canary! He’s says, “Who are you?” I tell him I will not go down alone.

I get the call that the package is ready. I take my lunch hour and head to the store. I slowly circle the parking lot looking for large armored vehicles or snipers on the roofs of nearby buildings. As I get out of the car and adjust my large sunglasses, I check the sky for a helicopter. No outward signs of an impending arrest.

Inside, I go to the counter. I tell the manager I am here to pick up a package. He asks my name. Then he asks for ID. My heart leapt and my hands shook just a little as I got it out. Then he goes to the computer, and I am certain he was signaling someone that I was there. Imaginary newsreels of me being escorted out of the FedEx store start going through my head. This then upset me that I hadn’t done my hair this morning and had instead knotted it up in a very poorly done bun on top of my head. I feared THAT would then be the image of me stuck in everyone’s head forever!! It will make for a horrible mug shot.

But, none of that happened. WHEW. And, now El Hubbo is happy again. (And a happy El Hubbo is a good thing.) But, next time, his name is definitely going on the order form. I can’t take the stress of the package pick-up.

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