🚨 A popular shampoo is being pulled from shelves immediately 😳 Check 1st comment 👇

German company Henkel recalled over 1,000 bottles of their shampoo brand Tec Italy Totale Shampoo because of fears of possible contamination with Klebsiella oxytoca, a potentially d3adly bacteria that can lead to infection of the eyes, skin, and nose.

Henkel concerned that it had disrupted the shampoo in New York and California but it may have accessed additional states.

Tec Italy is available for online purchase to customers from Europe.

According to a release by the manufacturer, the recalled shampoo “is packaged in a green plastic 33.81 fluid ounce/1 liter bottle, marked with the lot number 1G27542266 on the side and the UPC code 7501438375850.”

Henkel further said that exposure to Klebsiella oxytoca can lead to health problems in humans, including eye, nose and skin infections, with “additional reactions for consumers with immune-compromised conditions,” as reported by Fox News.

Related Posts

Homemade Collagen for Pain, Inflammation, and Joints… 𝗦𝗲𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 ( full method in 1st c0mment)

As we age, our body’s ability to produce collagen diminishes, impacting not only our skin’s elasticity but also the health of our bones, muscles, and joints. Collagen,…

9 effects of vitamin B12 deficiency! Check 1st comment 👇👇

Vitamin B12, also known as cobalamin, is crucial nutrient that plays a key role in many bodily functions, including the formation of red bl00d cells, nerve health,…

MY HUSBAND HIRED A “SWEET” CAREGIVER FOR HIS MOM – SHE TURNED OUT TO BE HIS LOVER A few months ago, my MIL Sharon had a str0ke, so we invited her to live with us. Balancing work and caregiving got tough, and my husband Ben insisted on hiring a caregiver he found: Lena — 28, “so sweet, like a daughter to Sharon.” He said she was worth $1,000/week. I thought it was steep, but he pushed hard. Then one evening, Sharon quietly asked me to install cameras. “Cassie, would you mind setting up one of those little camera things? I don’t feel safe sometimes when I’m alone. I’m afraid I might faint, and nobody would know. Ben isn’t good with tech, but maybe you can help and watch over me through those cameras.” So I did. What I saw on the footage? …. Full story:

I’m Cassie, 35, and have been married to Ben, 38, for seven years. We don’t have children because I’ve had some health issues that make it tough….

11 top honey remedies. Full article 👇 💬

Honey, a natural sweetener produced by bees, has been used for centuries not only as a food but also as a remedy for various ailments. Its versatility…

My daughter sent me to a nursing home without even knowing that this building was mine. That’s when I decided to teach her a lesson. My name is Tamara Alekseevna. I am seventy-four years old. I used to have a full life: a loving husband, a job I adored, a warm home, and three children. But ten years ago, my husband passed away—his heart couldn’t take it. After his d.eath, the house became empty, and I became someone no one needed. My children started calling less, and the phone grew silent more often. The one who distanced herself the most was my youngest daughter, Irina. Since childhood, she had been focused and ambitious, dreaming of a big career. When she entered university in the capital, I was overjoyed. To help her, I gave everything: my savings, my mother’s jewelry, even sold my father’s old “Volga.” Years passed. Irina got married and had a son. We saw each other rarely and talked even less—she was always in a rush, cutting the conversation short. Then, she stopped calling altogether. And one day, after three months of silence, she unexpectedly came to visit. “Mom, it’s hard for you to be alone. It’s time to think about a retirement home,” she said, avoiding my gaze. “They’ll take care of you, you’ll have company, and doctors.” I remained silent. My heart tightened with pain, but I no longer had the strength to resist. I just nodded. The next day, we ended up in a private retirement home on the outskirts of the city. A modern, beautiful building with a garden and cozy rooms. Irina quickly signed the documents, said a brief goodbye, and left, leaving me alone among unfamiliar walls as if she had rid herself of an unnecessary burden. Sitting on a bench, I watched the lilac petals fall. Memories surfaced: how my husband and I built this very building, how we gathered money, how we believed that in our old age, we would feel dignified. It was our joint project. Our property. He had everything signed over to me and said back then, “Let it be in your name, just in case the children decide to hurt us.” I walked around the grounds and peeked into the administration building. The director, a young man in glasses, smiled warmly. “Tamara Alekseevna? What are you doing here? You’re the owner of all this!” I nodded. My voice betrayed me, trembling. He seemed to immediately understand what was happening. “Would you like me to ban your daughter from coming here?” I bitterly smiled. “No… I’ll make a different decision.” I stayed there, but not as a resident— as the owner. That same evening, I gathered the staff, told them the truth, and declared that I would personally oversee the living conditions, care, and treatment of the elderly. For the first time in many years, I felt that I had a reason to live. Several weeks passed. Then, my grandson unexpectedly came to visit, without his mother. “Grandma, I missed you. And mom… She’s angry that you don’t invite us anymore.” I hugged the boy tightly. I didn’t want to take revenge. My decision was made—I had chosen to live, to help, to be strong. When Irina finally came, she wasn’t allowed inside. The administrator informed her that access was restricted. She called, wrote, and came with her husband—I didn’t respond. And one day, I wrote her this letter: “Sweetheart, I’m not angry. You chose what you thought was necessary, thinking you were getting rid of a burden. But I started a new life. Now, I’m not just an old mom—I’m a woman who has found meaning again. Perhaps, when you realize your mistake, I’ll open the door. Until then, let the door remain closed…” Six months passed. I now conduct workshops for grandmothers—we paint together, read books, and discuss films. My grandson visits more often, but Irina writes less and less. I no longer expect apologies. I simply live. And you know, dear reader, for the first time in many years, I feel something light and free inside, as if a long burden has been lifted. A year passed since the day my daughter brought me to the nursing home, not even suspecting that it was my building. In that year, I became someone else. Not the mom who gives everything without a trace. Not the woman who silently hides tears in her pillow. Now, I’m simply Tamara Alekseevna—the owner, the leader, and, above all, a person who has found her place in life again. But one day, on an ordinary autumn day, they handed me an envelope through security. The handwriting was familiar—trembling, slightly uneven. A letter from Irina. “Mom… I’m writing and I can’t believe that you… Continued in the comments

My name is Jovana Alekseevna, and I’m seventy-four years old. I once had a full and joyful life: a career I cherished, a devoted husband, a cozy…

MY STEPSON’S FIANCÉE TOLD ME ‘ONLY REAL MOMS GET A SEAT IN THE FRONT’ — SO I WATCHED THE WEDDING FROM THE BACK… UNTIL MY BOY TURNED AROUND When I married my husband, Nathan was six. His mother had left two years earlier. My husband was grieving, working two jobs, barely holding it together. So I stepped in because a little boy needed someone who would stay. I was there for scraped knees, forgotten school projects, late-night fevers, and high school heartbreak. And when my husband passed away suddenly from a stroke, I stayed. I raised Nathan alone. No blood ties. No support. Just love. I paid his college application fees. Helped him move into his first apartment. Cried at his graduation. At his wedding, I arrived early. Quietly, no fuss. I brought a small box — a pair of silver cufflinks, engraved with: “”The boy I raised. The man I admire.”” Then she approached me. Melissa. The bride. Polite. But cold. Her eyes flicked to my hands, then back to my face. “”Hi,”” she said. “”So glad you made it.”” I smiled. “”Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”” Then she dropped it. “”Just a quick note—the front row is for REAL MOMS ONLY. I hope you understand.”” She smiled again like she hadn’t just gutted me. The planner heard. So did a bridesmaid. No one said a word. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “”Of course. I understand.”” I walked to the back row, gift clutched like an anchor in my lap. The music started. The guests stood. Nathan appeared at the end of the aisle—handsome, calm, polished. He scanned the crowd and saw me in the back row. ⬇️

I never expected to cry at my stepson’s wedding. “Only real moms get a seat in the front”, his fiancée told me — so I watched the…

Leave a Reply