Makes Sense to Me

I went to Sephora yesterday to get some lip gloss and eyeliner, and remembered that I’d been meaning to search for some night moisturizer and the sales associate, oh the SALES ASSOCIATE, she referred to my skin as “severely dehydrated,” and clucked her disapproval at its crepe-like appearance.

“How … how can we fix this?” I was panicked, because the situation was so obviously SEVERE and URGENT and did I want fine lines and wrinkles? NO! NO! STOP THIS MADNESS! Thirty-three dollars later, I had my answer — Boscia night cream, if you care and after one night it’s okay, I mean, I don’t see any significant results befitting the desperate, desperate situation I was so clearly in. I would think that I should have heard my pores slurping the way I do a vanilla milkshake, right?

In other retail news, I was desperate for some plug-in air fresheners, I don’t know why, and a friend recommended Bath & Body Works Wallflowers, and while I’m sure they smell lovely in small doses, my entire house smells like a spiced pumpkin vomited all over the walls, because I dropped it on the cold tile within five seconds of opening the package. Glass, fine, it’s annoying, but the pumpkin! The pumpkin fragrance! I was complimented on it today, like it was a personal choice to smell like sweet cinnamon pumpkin.

By the way, I was right about my mammogram — righter than I thought I’d be, sadly. Apparently my extra-special boobs are extra-cysty and there’s one cyst in particular that requires the attention of Super Boob Guy, who will examine the cyst with cold, cold hands, then follow up with a personal Super Special Boob Guy mammogram and ultrasound. Maybe he won’t insist that my boobs be jammed in there like a stubborn car key.

Incidentally, I’m sick and have buried my sinuses in a vat of Thai hot and sour soup and the thing is, being sick is all my fault! All my fault! Adam got sick, and I — no, we – rationalized that since in the nine years we’ve been together, we’ve never passed a cold between us, kissing was okay. And while the kissing itself was more than okay, it was actually entirely not okay in the germy realm, and history has been made! History! I caught a cold from my husband, and the grand irony is that he won’t let me kiss him. And that, my friends, is one of the most unfair things ever.

(I so feel like licking his hands, tongue and nostrils in his sleep for small vengeance.)

And at this rate — this feverish, very tired rate — I will not be attending the wedding I am expected at this weekend, and precisely how big of a douchebag does that make me? It’s not a close friend, but it’s a friend and I just … well, I don’t want to go with a raging fever. So what do I do? Do I CALL him the morning of his wedding? I’m not saying it’s a definite no, I just … I mean, it would not be fun with a fever no no no. No?

I also couldn’t sleep worth a poop last night, and when I considered aloud that perhaps the cat’s incessant snuggling was at fault, Adam not-so-politely informed me that perhaps it was the “freight train shooting out of my nose” that kept the whole house up. Sexy. I am OH SO SEXY.

With that, I think … well, I’d considered another non-sequitur, but right now, my head feels like it’s attached to a string and is floating off maybe somewhere in New Jersey while my body remains firmly anchored to the bed. The bed it will unfortunately have to depart, because there are people on vacation tomorrow and they must be covered for! Covered! With snot, perhaps, because that’s the best I can offer right now. Would you like some, perhaps as a deliciously sweet and salty ham glaze?

Happy Friday!

*Widespread Panic

15 comments November 15th, 2007