Wednesday, February 07, 2007

Get This Grease Monkey Off My Back!

So if you've ever spent more than a day or two in my company, you know that I have a dark secret. At first it might not seem like a big deal. You might say to yourself, "Oh, I've done that before" ... "It doesn't really seem like a problem" ... "Otherwise she's kind of normal".

That's right. I'm girl1 and I'm a chapstickoholic. Although I prefer to think of myself as a ... connoisseur. Addiction gets such a bad rap.

It started out simply. Basic black Chapstick every so often. No big deal. I could quit any time. Then it started. A few days after application, I could feel my lips getting dry. Simple solution: another application. People started to notice and mock. But shaming didn't stop me. I reached again and again for that little tube, until it was daily ... and finally ... hourly.

Then I started to wonder ... is basic black really the best? I mean, there's no flavor other than a faint taste of Vaseline ... what about cherry? And it's waxy ... what about that yellow stuff in a little pot? And that, friends, was the beginning of my descent into the hell of everything from Dr. Pepper flavoring to sparkly blue gloss to medicated balms.

Now I carry it in my pockets. I check before I go out to make sure I have it with me. I can't just keep it in my bag or coat, because I might put those things down somewhere while I'm at a party and it would be awkward to leave the conversation I'm in to run and fetch it. (Much less so to smear it on my lips as I talk). I noticed in pictures from my birthday party this year that there's a snapshot of me with a drink in one hand and gloss in the other. And it doesn't end there. At night I tuck myself in and nestle a tube right next to my bed.

I almost have things under control now. I have a brand I prefer - and highly recommend if you're into that sort of thing: Burt's Bees. It's kind of minty and not petroleum-based, so it's okay that I'm essentially eating a tube of it every two weeks, right? Sometimes I can fool myself into thinking that all in all, it's pretty harmless.

Unfortunately, I learned too late that my minty monkey was nothing but a 400-pound gateway drug gorilla. Sure, my lips were nice and greasy ... but what about my hands? Every time I washed them, they started to feel dry ... ick! So now I carry lotion with me everywhere I go.

But it's okay; I make it work. I just wax up and try to forget the subterfuge, desperation, and begging that ensued when a TSA screener confiscated my gooey collection of goodies (which tipped the scales at more than 3 ounces) right before a 5-hour flight ...

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