I thought it might all have started because of my liver. I walked into the lumber store and the smart-alec behind the counter said, "What happened to your face?"

What this kid is talking about is a small age spot, about the size of a pencil eraser, just below my right eye. I usually make up some war story about battling with an errant 2x4, but sometimes I cave and say, "It's a liver spot...I'm OLD..ok!"

Truth be told, at 51, I'm not THAT old, and it's not like I look like the Phantom of the Opera, but liver spots, age spots, or whatever you choose to call them are nearly equal opportunity offenders and can besiege just about anyone over thirty years of age.

How it came to be called a liver spot, I am told, is because a toxic liver can end up manifesting itself in little tell-tale marks just about anywhere on your body.

My annual check up was clean however, with liver enzyme levels indicating fine shape, so this annoying blotch below my eye is apparently just the result of normal aging.

I first noticed the minor darkening of the skin under the eye about two years ago, back when I used to spend more time in the sun, unconcerned about the effects.

That was before I knew about how prevalent skin cancer is, and now I cannot go outside without Mrs. A following me around with a tube of sunscreen.

There are tubes of the stuff in my golf bag, the glove boxes of both cars and even a little squeeze job stashed in a pair of my work coveralls. But I digress.

Just to be sure I didn't have something malignant, I went to my dermatologist.

He got out his magnifying loop and gave it a look, saying that it wasn't anything to be concerned about. (Sure, he doesn't have to keep making up stories about bar fights and poor snake handling every time somebody asks.)

He did suggest that I could consult a laser clinic, and that there was one just up the street.

Happy for the potential fix, I thanked him and drove by the place.

A nice receptionist got me in straight away and schooled me on the risks and gave me a piece of paper to sign.

After a routine examination, the Laser Dr. suggested that she could give the annoying spot a zap with the laser, but she couldn't guarantee that it would work without follow-up treatments.

How much, Doc?

"That would be $175 dollars per visit, probably take a few visits," she said.

She must have seen the color run from my face, since she asked if I was ok. More dejected than ever, I clutched my wallet and nearly ran for the door.

In desperation, I turned to the "interwebs."

For my problem I found no less than 13 natural substances, starting with apple cider vinegar and ending with walnuts.

In between, there are poultices made of aloe, scrubs made of chick peas, tinctures made with horseradish and even a recipe of lemon juice, onion and dandelions that I would vastly prefer on a salad as opposed to my face.

When I consulted Mrs. Anthony about it, she was tragically pragmatic.

"I don't see what the big deal is," she said, "just put some castor oil on it."

For Mrs. Anthony, castor oil is a cure all, just as it is for her mother, and just as it was for her mother's mother.

Mrs. A will put castor oil on everything from a chapped elbow to the dog's nose.

I thought it was simply oil that you put on a squeaky caster wheel, but she said it had something to do with a bean.

Today, Mrs. A has read about a new product that is supposed to help me avoid plastic surgery.

"Go to vitamin store and get some EMU oil," she suggested.

EMU oil? I watch Animal Planet...I know what an Emu is, but just to be sure, I googled it.

"The Emu is a tall (up to 6'7") flightless bird indigenous to the Australian Continent," it read.

Wow...that's the same height as Seattle Sonics forward Wally Szczerbiak.

"Emus can travel great distances at a fast, economical trot and, if necessary, can sprint at 30 miles an hour."

This must be quite a trick, chasing down a bird the size of Wally and squeezing oil out of it.

I went dutifully to the store and hunted down the wily Emu, finding it on a shelf next to other weird products like Neem oil, Tea Tree Oil and something called Gotu Kola.

I like Colas, but I won't pay twelve dollars for a bottle, and when I picked up the Emu, the price for a 4-ounce container was a whopping twenty bucks.

That old fixall, castor oil, is starting to look pretty good now, but I think it's cheaper yet to just keep coming up with creative explanations for my hard won mark of distinction.