A fly in the ointment, or is it a salve?

For someone who’s been playing with “house money” for 20 years (according to actuarial projections for the year I was born), 28 days doesn’t seem like very long. But, it’s too long for most of them based on my opinion.

That’s the average life span for the housefly — 15 to 30 days is the range based on conditions.

I attempt to cut that average with my swatter when one annoys the CEO and me at our little outdoor nook.

I do use T-relief ointment for my occasional tennis aches and muscle issues. As a result of the stuff being in a tube before I apply it, I’ve never found a “fly in the ointment.”

The modern edition of this phrase implies something unpleasant may come or has come to light in a proposition or condition that appeared almost too good (that there is something wrong somewhere).

The life span of only 28 days is still too long and apparently has been for more than a millennium since the saying has been around since the first notation was by a biblical author.

The unknown author of the book of “Ecclesiastes” (the Greek rendering of the Hebrew word “kobeleth,” “preacher”) wrote of it in the 10th chapter, first verse.

The English translation follows: “Dead flies cause the ointment to send forth a stinking savour; so doth a little folly him that is in reputation for wisdom and honour.”

Whomever this writer (or writers) was he had a flair for figures of speech.

The author also gave us: Vanity of vanities, saith the preacher; all is vanity”, “For everything there is a season …”, and “He who digs a pit will fall into it …” etc.

Perhaps it’s fortunate that Jeremiah in his book (8:22) didn’t reflect on Ecclesiastes or we would have had “Is there a fly in the balm of Gilead?”

No matter, the Greeks translated it the way they read it and the King James version followed through.

Another ancient version of the concept was “a fly in the amber.”

Readers of the “Outlander” series will recall the title “A Dragonfly in Amber,” but I digress.

The amber analogy implies that something is as unexpectedly out-of-place as the fly that one occasionally finds embedded in fossilized amber.

While we’re on the subject or at least in the general area perhaps we should explore the differences among ointments (sans flies), balms and salves.

Of the three, ointments are the softest in texture. They may be used to treat a variety of medical concerns such as eczema, irritation, rashes or itchy skin.

Naturally, antibiotic ointments should be prescribed by a physician; in one of my alter egos, Dr. Hugh Wildare self-taught brain surgeon, I never prescribed ointments for brain treatments (application was difficult). However, some over-the-counter options are available for things like dry skin — I recommend Aveeno for my arms affected by sun and tennis (I receive no royalties, but would consider it).

Moving on to balms — different from a balmy day unless you may be applying one to protect your lips — they are designed to not absorb completely into your skin. They can be formulated to target specific areas of the body, like the lips.

Advice: Never try to kiss a girl who has just applied a large dose of lip balm; you might slip off her lips and hurt yourself.

That brings us to salves. If you’re keeping track, salves are subsets of ointments.

By texture they are typically softer than balms but harder than traditional ointments. They absorb deeply into the skin and are frequently infused with essential oils to treat wounds.

That explains why my Grandmother Willard refused to let my parents take me to a doctor when I cut my knee to the bone from slipping on the license plate while washing the car.

Although I could see the bone, she insisted on applying carbolic acid salve because we were taking a trip the next day.

Grandmas aren’t always right as I still bear the scar today and that knee doesn’t bend as well as the other one.

I hope the moral to this story is: Check your ointments for flies before you use them. You never know what killed the fly.