Sunday, February 15, 2009

Stupid and itchy

Well, I guess since I decided to bring stupid back, God decided to give me some chances to use the word. On my own self. (Segue - the other day Eva Rose said, "I just can't get these pants on my own self" and I melted with love for her.)

I am a smell girl (not a smell-y girl, a smell girl. Just felt the need to clarify.) I was blind as a bat for years and Walker has bionic hearing but my nose? The nose knows y'all.

I relate so many life experiences to smells. Ivory soap and Final Net is my sweet missed grandma; crayons and Barbie plastic is childhood; Polo cologne is middle school. I would bet money I could rightly identify each of my children's diapers blindfolded. Yes indeed, I would take the blue ribbon in The Pampers Challenge.

What can I say, it's a gift.

I also do much of my consumer shopping based on smell, most notably in the toiletries department. You'll see me popping caps, gently squeezing, and inhaling on aisle 7. If the smell causes me to close my eyes and smile, the bottle makes it into the grocery cart.

I suppose some people have been arrested for less.

Lately here the humidity has dipped below it's normal 99% and my Houston skin has reacted by screaming and flaking and drying. It needed love of the moisturizing kind so last week at Kroger I spied some on sale, inhaled and....oh glory. Patchouli filled my nostrils. But the smell was so light and feminine, evoking memories of very expensive little gift shops - as opposed to college boys' dorm rooms. Because College Boy Dorm Room is a smell I do not care to slather and inhale.

That night I lubed up, inhaled luxoriously, and went to bed. As I lie there, I got a case of The Itchies. This happens to me from time to time: I lie in bed and my arms itch then my legs then my tummy and it is miserable until I either take a Benadryl or just finally fall asleep. I have always blamed it on hormones just cause, you know, I blame everything on hormones.

The next night I took out my same jammies that now had the sweet lingering smell of patchouli, inhaled, and put them on, lubed up with my favorite new lotion, then went to watch Big Love with Walker. And the itching began. Legs. Arms. Tummy. Ugh! Scratch scratch. Ugh! Scratch scratch. Ugh!

Soon I noticed the insides of my arms were especially red, and little red bumps, began to raise up! It hurt! I felt like I was burning! Oh no! It must be the lotion, the new patchouli-like-an-expensive-gift-shop-not-like-a-college-boy's-dorm-room lotion that has made my life complete!

Devastation! I moaned to Walker, who did not empathize one bit, for the record. And claimed he could not see the BLISTERS that were APPEARING all OVER my ARMS.

That night every time I rolled over, I would wake up, because it burned so bad.

I find the lotion of my sensory dreams, on sale, and I am allergic to it! Sob.

Friday I told my mom the whole sad story. She was much more intrigued and supportive than my husband, for the record. And she saw the blisters plain. as. day. I said, "Well, you can have it I guess, since I'm allergic to it" and sighed as I retrieved it for her.

Before handing it over, I took one last look at the container of my joy.

A close, lingering, literate look.

Notice anything?
Click on it if you need to.


Uh huh.

So in case you have ever wondered, Hm, if I were to coat myself head to toe in soap, and then go straight to bed, would there be any detrimental side effects? I am here to tell you what's in store. THE ITCHIES. BURNING. BLISTERS. UNSYMPATHETIC AND ULTIMATELY MOCKING HUSBANDS.

I'm off to take a shower now. A sweet, sweet smelling shower.

But never fear, tomorrow I shall further humiliate myself with part 2 of The Stupid Chronicles.

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