Okay, maybe it's wrong of me to call it cheap—just because I bought it at the Dollar Tree I shouldn't automatically assume it's crap—it is made by Hawaiian Tropic after all. I discovered it in my local Dollar Tree approximately six years ago and have been planning on using it every summer since... but first I just forgot, and then I got pregnant and didn't want to slather myself with chemicals while incubating a human fetus for fear my child might be born with a palm tree sprouting out of its head—after all, that's what's pictured on the bottle of the self-tanner (a palm tree, not a mutant baby. Obviously.)
And then when I was breastfeeding I still avoided slopping on the goo, for fear of my baby ending up looking like this:
Then I got pregnant again, breastfed again, finally lost the baby weight...and, well, now I'm giving the self-tanner a try, especially since it promises to camouflage such terrors as spider veins, and, ahem, cellulite. Of course, at this point I believe the goop has been expired for at least five years, so it's no surprise that I've merely gone from "pasty white girl" to "pasty white girl who looks like she might have gone outside for ten minutes on an overcast day" during the past week that I've been slathering it on.
Still, I feel like I should at least make the effort, especially since I purchased eight bottles of the stuff when I found it all those years ago, and those eight bottles have been taking up precious real estate in my bathroom cabinets ever since. Come on...Hawaiian Tropic self-tanner for a dollar? How could I not stock up?!
At any rate, all of this slathering of goo has caused me to be a bit stinky, and frankly, I'm surprised my husband hasn't noticed yet. He is blessed with an unbelievably sensitive nose and usually notices the slightest change of odor in anything.
In fact, when I got pregnant with my first child, at some point during the first month I climbed into bed next to him to snuggle up, and he remarked, "Hmmm.... you smell different." (He was just referring to my skin, by the way... we were barely even touching at the time). I made the mistake of asking how exactly I smelled different, and he pondered for a minute, then responded, "I don't know exactly. You just smell kind of... gamey."
I don't know if there's any good way to take it when your husband tells you you smell gamey, but according to him I took it the wrong way because I pretty much burst into a fit of hormonal sobbing and turned my back on him, refusing to touch him for the rest of the evening. I then spent the rest of my pregnancy obsessively sniffing various areas of my body to see if I detected anything that might smell like, well, alligator per se. Or maybe wild boar.
But at any rate, I explained to him yesterday as I climbed into bed that any strange smells emanating from my person were to be attributed to self-tanner, and he predictably laughed at me and asked me why the heck I was bothering with self-tanner.
"Because we're going to the beach, and I don't want to be pasty white!" I responded. He argued that he and the kids would be pasty white too, so what difference did it make?
How could I explain that I secretly fantasized that this little bottle would magically transform me from an average housewife into THIS!!???
|I know... keep dreaming, right?|
So this morning I was doing my usual ritual slopping-on of goop, and I think I added a bit more than usual in a frantic effort to eek at least a little of the "natural island glow" this product promised to impart. I also applied super-duper amounts of the stuff to my inner and outer thighs in an attempt to "contour" my legs, as I'd been advised to do by Glamour magazine in order to provide the optical illusion of slimmer "gams." (I didn't tell my husband about the contouring part... I would never hear the end of it.)
So I smelled particularly offensive this afternoon while making my daughter her lunch, which is probably why I didn't immediately notice that she had pooped herself massively, soiling not only herself, but her outfit, the carpet, and the surrounding toys too.
Normally I would have smelled something like that in a heartbeat—the whole room stank. But I didn't notice her condition until I approached her to tell her that lunch was ready, at which point I promptly gagged and reconsidered the idea of lunch altogether. I was immediately forced to strip my daughter down, throw away the outfit she was wearing and frantically carry her upstairs—held away from me at arms' length—to plop her in the bathtub.
After bathing her I convinced her to take a nap (she didn't even want lunch, and I had lost my appetite too), and then I tiptoed back downstairs to face the waiting mess. I tackled the carpet with a rag and some knockoff Oxi-Clean (also ironically purchased about six years ago from the Dollar Tree), shuddered viscerally at the stink of it all, threw the rag in the laundry and went upstairs to have some "quiet time" for Mommy (this usually involves my bed, the computer, and some Valium).
So now the house is quiet, and here I sit, typing away and calming myself down. But what's killing me now is that I can't seem to shake the poo smell. I still faintly detect it, even though I've thoroughly wiped myself down and cleaned everything downstairs. But even with all that effort, between the poo odor and the self-tanner smell, I'm just about ready to yack, and I have a nagging feeling that I'm now infecting my bed with invisible poo molecules.
Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a mom—what I really need...what I seem to always need, in fact—is another shower, not skinny thighs. Screw "contouring!" I'm going to wash off!