Every year, as part of her stocking stuffer crusade (despite our lack of stockings) my mother gets me scented bath doohickeys--lavender, green tea, white ginger, body scrubs or washes or lotions or whatever. And this is fine, because I would not buy myself such arcane potions--I am a utilitarian showerer, I believe that you get in, soap, shampoo, rinse, and get out, and more than five minutes is decadence--and it's kinda fun now and again.*
This year she got me some maple sugar body wash, which I thought was odd at the time, but now I found myself standing under hot water with a bottle of it in hand. Maple sugar. Huh. "Interesting," I said, to the shower, which did not have anything to say in reply.
But there I was, and there it was, and I absorbed a lot of Star Trek in my youth, including the boldly going where no man, etc, so what the hell. I popped the cap, found my loofah, and lathered up.
Powerful stuff, that maple.
Now I smell like a waffle. A big...'ol...clean...waffle.
*Furthermore, there is a moratorium on buying what James (himself a long-haired peacenik) calls "goddamn hippie soap," because he claims it smells too much like food and if it's early and he's groggy and I am cruel enough to stock that one gingerbread-scented kind, disaster will inevitably follow. So I am forced to get it as gifts.
This year she got me some maple sugar body wash, which I thought was odd at the time, but now I found myself standing under hot water with a bottle of it in hand. Maple sugar. Huh. "Interesting," I said, to the shower, which did not have anything to say in reply.
But there I was, and there it was, and I absorbed a lot of Star Trek in my youth, including the boldly going where no man, etc, so what the hell. I popped the cap, found my loofah, and lathered up.
Powerful stuff, that maple.
Now I smell like a waffle. A big...'ol...clean...waffle.
*Furthermore, there is a moratorium on buying what James (himself a long-haired peacenik) calls "goddamn hippie soap," because he claims it smells too much like food and if it's early and he's groggy and I am cruel enough to stock that one gingerbread-scented kind, disaster will inevitably follow. So I am forced to get it as gifts.