Scented Lotion
My first foray into scented lotion went along these lines...
I boarded the weekly bus to the supermarket. I had run out of lotion for the first time since being away from home, and the burden of choosing my own lotion product arose. My mother had diligently purchased an expensive, fragrance-free lotion for me since the age of twelve, when the need to moisturize first came about. Now, however, my budget could not accomodate said lotion. Or rather, I was too cheap to splurge on it.
I carefully scanned the beauty aisle for lotions under $5. This was mostly St. Ive's. Unfortunately, either the supermarket or St. Ive's does not believe in unscented lotion, so I was forced to choose a scented one. I stared the row of white bottles, all promising me things like, "Men would go to war for you if you smelled like this! Don't you want to be like Helen?" And yes, I did want to be like Helen of Troy, if perhaps a little less trampy. I dropped one of the lotions (supposedly a flower scent) into my basket, and moved on.
I sat behind the bus driver on the way back, and I couldn't wait to try out my new lotion. I popped the bottle open and slathered the lotion on my hands. The bus driver pulled over immediately after and asked, "Did someone bring beer on the bus?" She refused to start the bus going again until the mystery was solved, so I was forced to admit that the smell was me. It was me and my "floral-scented" beer lotion.
I returned to the supermarket next week and bought the more expensive lotion. The beer lotion sat on my bureau for weeks. I would periodically attempt to get my friends to use it, so I wouldn't feel alone in having experienced the scented lotion monstrosity. Yet another failure in smelling good, the first being in third grade, when my friend Lucy and I tried to make perfume by smashing up flowers and mixing them with water in an old Gatorade bottle.
Since then, scented lotion and I have come to better terms. I've received several gifts of nice-smelling lotion. Generally I feel, though, that we have an excessive amount of scents being forced upon us daily. Scented deodarant, scented laundry detergent, scented shampoo and conditioner and shower gel, etc. I don't know what a human being really smells like, truth be told.
So on adding yet another fragrance to beauty regimens: caveat emptor. If you must do it, smell it before you buy it (even if the ubiquitous, 60-something woman who passes by when you do anything dubious gives you a disapproving look).
I boarded the weekly bus to the supermarket. I had run out of lotion for the first time since being away from home, and the burden of choosing my own lotion product arose. My mother had diligently purchased an expensive, fragrance-free lotion for me since the age of twelve, when the need to moisturize first came about. Now, however, my budget could not accomodate said lotion. Or rather, I was too cheap to splurge on it.
I carefully scanned the beauty aisle for lotions under $5. This was mostly St. Ive's. Unfortunately, either the supermarket or St. Ive's does not believe in unscented lotion, so I was forced to choose a scented one. I stared the row of white bottles, all promising me things like, "Men would go to war for you if you smelled like this! Don't you want to be like Helen?" And yes, I did want to be like Helen of Troy, if perhaps a little less trampy. I dropped one of the lotions (supposedly a flower scent) into my basket, and moved on.
I sat behind the bus driver on the way back, and I couldn't wait to try out my new lotion. I popped the bottle open and slathered the lotion on my hands. The bus driver pulled over immediately after and asked, "Did someone bring beer on the bus?" She refused to start the bus going again until the mystery was solved, so I was forced to admit that the smell was me. It was me and my "floral-scented" beer lotion.
I returned to the supermarket next week and bought the more expensive lotion. The beer lotion sat on my bureau for weeks. I would periodically attempt to get my friends to use it, so I wouldn't feel alone in having experienced the scented lotion monstrosity. Yet another failure in smelling good, the first being in third grade, when my friend Lucy and I tried to make perfume by smashing up flowers and mixing them with water in an old Gatorade bottle.
Since then, scented lotion and I have come to better terms. I've received several gifts of nice-smelling lotion. Generally I feel, though, that we have an excessive amount of scents being forced upon us daily. Scented deodarant, scented laundry detergent, scented shampoo and conditioner and shower gel, etc. I don't know what a human being really smells like, truth be told.
So on adding yet another fragrance to beauty regimens: caveat emptor. If you must do it, smell it before you buy it (even if the ubiquitous, 60-something woman who passes by when you do anything dubious gives you a disapproving look).
posted by Meredith at 7:09 AM
3 Comments:
so, you forgot the part where i used the beer floral lotion on my hands and they exploded with pain and redness.
Oh man, that was the best part! I'd forgotten that.
If you like the scented stuff, try www.BathLab.com. You can select your own scent for lotions, shampoos, etc.
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