At a loss for something to do today, my sister and I wandered into The Body Shop and started trying on all the testers. (Please, I'd like you to memorize this line and repeat it back to yourself the next time you find yourself thinking how exciting my life in Singapore must be.)
I slathered my arms with something that smelled like all those Christmas-scented candles your mom used to buy for 80% off at A.C. Moore on December 26th, and was reveling, for a few hours, in the subtle aroma of pine and cranberry and vanilla and nutmeg and crabapple and orange emanating from my inner elbows. No, trust me, it was quite an enjoyable smell. And paired with the a capella version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen they were playing overhead---oh please, they have their tree up already, what did you expect?---I even started to get a little excited about the upcoming holiday season. By which I mean that I suddenly thought of, like, four things I wanted to put on my Christmas list, all at once.
But then I got home and noticed that this lotion is shiny. And glimmery. And sparkly. And that because of this, all the many remainders and reminders of Southeast Asian mosquito bites that currently dot the landscape of both my right and left arms ARE NOW COVERED IN GLITTER.
And then I thought about how, even though I make a big song and dance about lipgloss and cute skirts and sandals and the utmost importance of nude-colored underwear under white pants, perhaps it might be going just a tiny little bit too far---I mean, don't you think?---to be seen to be the kind of person who insists upon having pretty, pink, shimmery scabs.