The Bath Bomb

bath-bomb

I don’t care to work anywhere that your uniform consists of a black apron.  That attire should be reserved for chambermaids.

Last weekend I took Michelle to Crabtree Valley Mall to purchase birthday gifts for two of her turning 14-year-old friends.  She was determine to buy them a bath ball.  I was unfamiliar with this item.

When we arrived at Raleigh’s shopping Mecca, she escorted me to a new store called Lush.  Actually “store” is generous.  It’s more like a walkin closet.  Although it is on the second floor of the mall, I could smell it from the bottom of the escalator.

As we approached, my olfactory senses went into overdrive… lime, lilac, vanilla, cinnamon, salt, mint – my nostrils were perplexed.  So much to take in.

In this 10′ x 10′ box, I vied for space with sixty eighth grade girls who swarmed the face mask display like an active bee hive.  The bath balls were beautifully displayed in the back corner.

“Dad, aren’t they cute?  They look like a big bird’s egg.”

“Or a Martian turd.”

Apparently these chalk like bombers explode when you toss them into water.  The smells and bubbles embracing your naked body like a 20,000 thread count bed sheet.

We purchased four of the $8 ovals and headed to checkout.  Over by the soaps, a male employee in black regalia, washed a woman’s arm with a white cloth in a stainless steel bowl filled with water – 59 of us watched.  It was a bit like Jesus washing the disciples feet, yet different.

Thank you, but I’ll bathe in the privacy of my own home.

I’m wondering why anyone would want to walk around smelling like peach schnapps.

This is all so natural to Michelle.  This is all so odd to me.

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