The husband just informed me of a study that found a mild electrical zap to the brain will give older people the "working memory" of a 20-year-old.

Concerned about his high level of enthusiasm, I calmly said, "The toaster is still plugged in. Why don’t you go first?"





The detail man with excellent memory then showed me a picture of a study participant wearing something that looks like a swim cap covered with round plugs and lots of wires. "They say it feels like a tingling sensation or itch for 30 seconds and then the wearer gets used to it," he explained.

"I get that same feeling when I have my hair done with Alandra. She gives a great scalp massage during the shampoo. I’d rather have the scalp massage followed by a good haircut than a jolt of current."

"They say it can help clear brain fog," he says.

"Sleep can clear brain fog," I retort. "Or taking a walk outside. No wires necessary."

"Wouldn’t it be great to have the quick response time of a 20-year-old?" he asked.

There’s no denying the brains of our youth would be enjoyable. Who knows, with better brain speed we could have done our taxes in a fraction of the time. We might even be able to play complex video games. I might stop trying to unlock other people’s cars in parking lots. I might even remember what I read. I might even remember what I read.

"It would be something if the brain speed of a 20-year-old would allow me to do back flips again," I muse out loud.

"They didn’t say it could work miracles," he chuckles.

One minute he sees possibilities; the next minute he goes dark.


Meanwhile, a researcher following the do-it-yourself crowd found that individuals were more willing to use a hypothetical brain stimulation device on others than on themselves.

Isn’t that the way it always works?

I’m hiding the toaster. And then I’m making a hair appointment.

More from Lori Borgman:

Kids call ’em like they see ’em: seeing the world through unvarnished eyes

What high price families have to pay for commercialised bonding time

Following a visit by the grandkids, Lori Borgman reclaimed her life from a sea of chaos. Or so she thought