Tonight my mom and I went to the mall, supposedly on an errand,
but an errand that landed us in Bath and Body Works with a coupon, conveniently.
Fall is already a dangerous time for being in that store, what with their addictive three wick candles that nearly promise a full-blown life change, but then that coupon had us convinced it was within our personal destinies to find a good free mini body spray.
We had come to the mall on a mission for my preteen.
I never go to the mall anymore for just me, but a coupon to Bath and Body Works does a thing to a person.
What had we gone in there for?
Whatever the coupon told us we would need.
Friends, my mother and I spent a half hour tonight spraying approximately 600 spritzes of different sprays.
There is a certain kind of madness that happens once you cross that threshold.
“Do we need a basket?”
May as well give me several.
I’ll probably be here now half the day.
We sprayed our arms, we sprayed slips of paper, onlookers, service pets.
Our wildly waving arms were indiscriminate.
I sprayed her, and she sprayed me.
It was like we were aiming for making anyone approaching us question if we were
(as my grandma used to call them) “Women of the Night:”
Just two Scenty Sirens, luring people in by the now burning rims of their inflamed nostrils, beckoned by the smell of the supposedly superior vanillas of Tahiti.
We finally decided to stop once, now void of our mucosal layers, we both stopped being able to smell absolutely anything. I chose a free mini spray that I honestly could not smell at all.
I don’t know what it is about being in that place that has the power to make me think I’m just going in to sniff a candle, and then the next thing I know, as if I blacked out, I will be walking out thinking about the 8 candles and 6 body mists I somehow have in my bag, and what I’m going to tell my husband, pretending I bought some to give away.
That store is like a fever dream.
How much does one really need a matching shower gel, lotion, and body spray, really?
I have never loved any scent so much that I need there to be three layers of it on me at all times, in varying viscosities.
I love pumpkin as much as the next fall-loving gal, but I do not need it to become part of my DNA.
I cleaned out my bathroom cabinet earlier this year and it was like a Bath and Body Works graveyard in there.
If anyone else had seen the amount of Vanilla Bean Noels alone, they would have called TLC.
In that moment, faced with my own lotion shame, it made sense where my daughter, Chloe, had gotten it from, in regards to a classic family video she had once made.
At 8 years old, she was pretending to be filming a youtube tutorial on skin care for her “subscribers.”
(Of which there were none)
She had set up her big sister’s phone as a camera to film it in secret, not really thinking it through, and had then filmed herself positively soaking a washcloth with (I once counted) at least 78 sprays of that same sister’s brand new Vanilla Bean Noel body spray.
She would try to deny it, but that video was the smoking gun.
A half a brand new bottle doesn’t just evaporate.
Our family still quotes the moment when she placed that soaked washcloth completely over her eyes and face as if she was giving herself a steam treatment, and she quietly said,
“It burns.”
Reality had hit. She sheepishly took the washcloth off and shot the camera a look.
She should probably go to some form of cosmetology school before again trying such things.
Her sister would later discover this video on her phone, and march in to forbid Chloe from ever again using her stuff,
And I saw it then, faced with my own apparent compulsion:
That Vanilla Bean Noel scented apple had not fallen far from the tree.
While in the mall, we decided to go into Sephora to see if they have this rollerball perfume my daughter, Tessa, wants for her birthday.
I wanted to see what it smelled like, too, but guess what?
They were out of the rollerball.
ALL THEY HAD WAS THE SPRAY.
So, once again, there we were like two nuclear powered Balls of Scent spraying yet ANOTHER thing.
Just me and my elderly mother about to leave the mall looking like two Snoop Dogs because our eye surfaces had been permanently changed.
A Sephora worker appeared from the back, stopped, and said,
“Wow. *cough* Did someone just spray something?”
Honey, I hate to break it to you, but
We have literally sprayed everything.
In the car on the way home my mom held her arm to me, pointed, and asked,
“Is THIS the scent of Tessa’s thing?”
Poor little thing. She looked lost and confused. Thoughts jumbled by the toxins surely now coursing through her veins.
I just shrugged.
There was no knowing now.
Everything had just become SCENT scented.
We squinted at each other with unspoken empathy for one another.
We had been powerless against it, right?
It wasn’t our fault.
We were slaves to Maple Pecan Waffle and whatever “Sweater Weather” scent means.
Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I need to nurse a headache.
You will know I am coming if it burns when you breathe.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
