Friday, 23 December 2005
Today, although I had finished all of my Christmas shopping, and even wrapped it, my mother sent me out to pick up some of what it was she wanted. The major stop on her list was Bath & Body Works.
Last time I was in Bath & Body Works I felt that my masculinity was in serious danger. Too much exposure in there and I'll turn into a metrosexual. It's like the radiation in a warp core chamber. And so, in an effort to protect myself, I wore my black "Got Haggis?" T-shirt, my Goth-est combat boots, my 'Nam era Army Surplus jacket, and tied my hair into the manliest ponytail I could muster. (Sort of the equivalent of the lead apron.)
So I get in there, and I find the hand soap easy enough. It's the bath salts I have trouble with. Couldn't find them at first--only find Body Butter, Massage Oil and Soaking Sugar. What on God's green Earth is this? Sugar and butter for your body? Are you trying to moisturize your skin or baste it?
The combined smells of all the different stuff gives me the most incredible headache. And I finally find the bath salts and they're all lavender, but my mother asked me to pick up a specific scent. It wasn't Sandalwood, and it wasn't Cucumber Melon, and it wasn't Hibiscus, and it wasn't... They have bath salts that you can only use if your name is Jasmine? Weird.
Finally found the one she wanted. Something like Petroleum Petunia scent. I paid for it and fled before the estrogen levels in my bloodstream could reach toxic levels.