Friday, May 26, 2006

How Many Bath Products Does a Girl Need?

This morning she trekked into the bathroom to clean, hoping to get that job out of the way before the Holiday Weekend. Memorial Day Weekend was destined to be hot and muggy, and the last thing she wanted to be doing was cleaning the bathroom.

When she finished the sink and toilet and turned to the bath tub, she just stood there looking at it as if some stranger lived there. Removing the products from the side of the tub to clean it took longer than cleaning it. Two different shampoo brands, calling, of course, for two different conditioner brands; two tubes of Oil of Olay face wash; a bottle of St. Ives Apricot Scrub exfoliant; a bottle of Oil of Olay Ribbons body wash; two bottles of different scents of shower lotions; a bottle of K-Y massage oil; a can of ocean-scented shave gel; one Venus razor; and last but not least, two large bottles of bubble bath, one sandalwood scented and the other mango and orange.

She thought, "I've got to get rid of some of these things!" and retrieved a plastic Wal-Mart bag. She tossed in one of the shower lotion bottles, the nearly-empty-but-not-quite shampoo and conditioner and the almost-empty-but-not-completely mango and orange bubble bath. She took the massage oil, which she decided probably really had no purpose on the tub, and put it in the cabinet.

After scrubbing the tub clean and replacing the seashell bath mat, she lovingly replaced the saved-from-the-dumpster products and walked out of the bathroom, tossing the bag of disposed of items into the trash bag on her way out the door to take the trash to the curb for pick-up later in the day.

Back to work, her mind kept wandering. She was remembering that only two days ago she used the tossed shampoo and conditioner, and her hair felt so soft all day. She was remembering that a few nights earlier, her skin needing extra moisturizing, she rubbed the massage oil on her arms and legs in the tub. Her breathing quickened. She strolled back to the bathroom from behind her desk and prided herself on the organization on the side of her tub, but once back to work, she could not let go of the little voice in her head, telling her that she was going to need the things she threw away, probably within the next half-hour.

In her PJs, hair pulled up in a long ponytail, barefoot, muttering to herself, she rushed to the curb, and barely noticing the passing cars, the people staring openly at her, probably discussing with their children on the way to school that they should feel sorry for people like her, she opened the bags until she found the Wal-Mart Bag of Discarded Bath Products. Hugging them to her chest, she rushed inside and replaced them on the bath tub, her withdrawal symptoms fading, thinking, "Tomorrow I need to go buy more bath stuff before I run out!"

The life of a Bath Product Addict. There is no Twelve-Step Program for her but probably should be.

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