Beauty Products

Two years ago, I purchased a medium-sized bottle of bronzer (not quite self-tanner, but a self-sunner of some sort.). Today, I decided to add a little color to my arms and legs, in order to achieve a healthy glow. (Note: This was a successful endeavor in that I glowed and did it myself.)

The only problem is that the stuff is heavily scented. "Sweet Pea," the bottle assures an innocent reader. "A fragrant garden, a delicate flower," I assured myself. But once a person applies an even coat to each limb, a full eighth of a cup of perfume attacks the nostrils. The person smells ridiculous.

Thus,

I smelled ridiculous. I didn't even realize it until I sat down in a very cramped seminar class, but for every moment for the rest of that 80-minute class, my nose was assaulted by an overwhelming, eye-watering, sneeze-provoking, sinus-murdering embarrassment of scent. I very nearly apologized to the girls next to me for their certain suffering.

The self-sun-drencher also packs a bronzing kick from the liberal amount of glitter that I often forget is present in the stuff. It's very fine glitter, but it sparkles nonetheless.

So,

I shimmered like a seventh grader. It was a fine specimen of middle school fashion. All in the name of feminine garden-scented beauty. And no one can overlook the exquisite irony that I wore the glimmering junk for Intro to Women's Studies class. We were studying the traditional role of women throughout history.

I found a bathroom immediately after class, and washed the stinking goo off my already summer-kissed limbs. I may or may not use it anymore.