Pajama shorts and a DIY, Revolution tshirt. Hair completely out of place. Reading Revelation 4 off the bathroom mirror while I brush my teeth before bed.The bathroom sink didn't get officially cleaned this past weekend. I need to do that still. But not now. One toothbrush waits in the jar on one corner. I'm weeks behind on getting new toothbrushes. Add that to the mental Walgreen's shopping list. The hand soap thing is messy. How does it get soap all over it? Who on earth is having such a problem operating the little plastic pump? Even with St. Ives standing guard over it, it's messy.
St. Ives is the patron saint of at least semi-moist skin this winter. I wonder where he's been all my life, or at least every winter of my life. I tend to be skeptical about the formulas for those types of things. I'm convinced that all lotions are the same, all shampoos are the same, all toothpastes are the same - except for the color and the fragrance - they just put different things on the packaging to make us think we have choices.
This particular breed of St. Ives claims to be some serious, medically renowned "mineral" breed. It's so professional they didn't put pretty pictures on the bottle; they put a red plus sign and a lot of italic print. Skeptic though I may be, it has been the only thing that's worked - ever.
And as I continued my boring stream-of-consciousness, making sure to get my back molars scrubbed really well, my husband broke in by gently pumping just a dab of Dr. St. Ives, Mineral Man onto the tip of his right index finger.
I stopped wondering about the purity of minerals in the alps and started wondering about my husband, still waging war on plaque that might be seeking shelter in the back of my mouth, as he carefully divided the dab in half with his other index finger. As I pondered the many places such a small dab of healing ointment might be useful - temples, knuckles, toes, elbows - he abruptly dashed the serenity of evening ritual by plunging his right index finger into his right nostril.
I managed to prevent my toothbrush from diving down my throat, but not without choking a bit on either a gasp or a laugh and letting go of a short spray of toothpaste.
He turned to me as though somehow shocked at my reaction, and, maintaining eye contact, proceeded to twist his finger back and forth. Lowering my toothbrush to the sink, I gasped for breath as he calmly defended himself, "What?! Dry skin!" I nodded and, in the absence of that breath I'd been looking for, mouthed, "I know."
Without a moment's hesitation his left index finger, armed with a particular half-dab of lotion, followed suit and he cried out, "How else am I supposed to get minerals to my brain, Lex?!" I tried to brace myself on the sink without dropping my toothbrush, gasp for air and clutch my upper abdomen area as he insisted, "Huh?! How?!"
He left, brain full of fresh, straight-from-the-Alps minerals. I recovered, and wiped off the wall. Maybe you had to be there.
6 comments:
Oh, Lex honey, my man puts dabs of Vics up his nose with no explanation.
oh my goodness that is hilarious. i almost choked just reading it
has he read this yet? :) ha ha ha.
btw, try Aveda Hand Therapy sometime. it's amazing, and the only thing that ever worked for me...i could do an infomercial for it, but Aveda doesn't DOOO infomercials (that was a nod to skin care snobbery). i won't even call it lotion, b/c lotions don't work.
Ya. He came home last night and made a comment to the effect of, "I can't believe you blogged about my nose." Of course, he then wondered that I didn't mention he was in naught but boxers and socks at the time. So there you go - bonus for those who read the comments.
Gross...I can't believe you spit toothpaste all over the wall.
J/K...that lotion you have is pretty nice, but Tami's right, nothing compares to Aveda Hand Relief...Delicious.
i actually have never eaten aveda hand therapy, so i can only really say amen to its skin moisturizing qualities. but they are definitely top-shelf.
Post a Comment