Oh, it’s okay, it’s possible they don’t even like girls.
Listen, Lush Cosmetics, I’m pretty smitten with you. You make things that are supposedly handmade (although, tsk, I have spotted some parabens in some of your ingredients) and they smell amazing and work pretty swell too. If I could afford to buy tons more of your stuff I would.
And at first I thought the caricatures of your employees on your products, with a date stamp of when these people mixed each product, were cute and legitimized your “handmade” claims. But now I have all these cartoon dudes staring me down when I’m getting ready. Are all your employees in the mixing department dudes? Not that I would feel that much more comfortable if ladies were watching me beautify myself in the morning from start to finish, but honestly this is a little weird.
I do my deep thinking during my morning shower. My worrying, planning, creating, scheming. I start to notice that I’ve got this dude smiling at me every day. His label is on my shampoo. Wait, didn’t I just see him? There he is again! Wait, he mixed my Lush shampoo AND my conditioner. And he’s the same busy guy, Dil. So, whew, I don’t have identical twins spying on me naked, which would be ultra-weird. But when I look close, he’s smiling as if doing so against his will. He doesn’t look genuinely happy. Crap, now I feel doubly insecure about my post-2-kids body. Oh wait, he’s not concerned about that as much as he is the giant hairballs that come out of my scalp when I wash it. He must think they are a rat king of centipedes, and I can’t blame him. I shower without contacts, and out of the corner of my eye I have mistaken my own hairballs for large insects. Nope, buddy, I’m not Medusa and I’m not sick, either, I just have voluminous hair and for some reason I’ve always lost a lot of it. (Back in high school my mom would complain daily about the hairballs blowing around the bathroom like tumbleweeds after my morning prep routine.)
On days I don’t wash my hair, I have Brandon with the oversized black post earring (I still don’t know what’s up with those) encouraging me to use the dry shampoo. Which, Lush, I hate to say this, but I’m not sure about this powder shampoo idea. Sure, it dries up scalp oil on my lazy/running late days, but it also seems to add a layer of “antiquing” if you aren’t super careful. Yesterday I thought my grays had gone mega-gray in that area above my ear (why do people go gray there first??) and realized there was freakin’ cornstarch dry shampoo dust there that I’d donned all day, giving me a nice gray hue. The picture of the guy who mixes the dry shampoo should look more like Amadeus. Have Brandon mix some sort of ointment for infected earring holes or something.
When I go to style, Mr. Nic laughs at me as I put The Big Tease gel in my hair. I’m not sure why. Mr. Reya on Lemony Flutter seems friendly so that’s all good, and it seems to match how smooth the stuff makes my hands. And Madu smiles very confidently at me, assuring me that his Ocean Salt face & body scrub, although a lot like sandpaper in a pot, will smell fabulous and transform my skin to crazy soft.
But listen, guys, while having multiple stylists makes me feel pampered and famous, I wouldn’t mind a little privacy. It’s difficult enough to get a quiet shower by myself before Girlchild and Boychild wake up. So even if you’re smiling at me, I plan to make you start looking elsewhere. I’m sure that’s just fine with you too.
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