UGH! They GOT me. *collapses melodramatically*
I was at the mall with the spawn, heading toward the exit when a woman approached me and asked me where I was from. I never should have made eye contact, but she wasn't standing right near her kiosk, so I was caught completely off guard by her interesting use of an ancient pick-up line. She got me. I answered, "I'm local." She asked me if I had a good hair straightener (I flat ironed my hair today, a mistake I won't be making again) and beckoned me over to her little shop of horrors. I blame being hungry and tired on my inability to say no to this woman, for I followed her like an obedient lap dog. You would have thought she had enticed me with a fistful of bacon.
She led me to her stand, where I thought I'd hear a little blurb about how great this new hair straightener is and instead I found myself with a glob of Dead Sea Salt Exfoliant on my hand.
"Rub dat een", she said very quickly in a very thick accent whose origin I couldn't quite place.
Holding my hand over a white plastic bowl, she played twenty questions with me, asking me my name, how old I was, if I had a husband, how long we've been married and whether or not I was gainfully employed. Oh, she was good, this one. She had me right where she wanted me: wet and trapped. She had a towel hidden there somewhere, I know, but I couldn't see it and I wasn't too keen on the idea of walking off with one hand covered in Dead Sea Salt, so I remained her captive customer. She then showed the children and me how terrific this product was as she hosed my hand off with a squirt bottle of water.
Then it got gross.
She laughed with the children as she told us how NASTY Mommy was and how "she needs a shower", while surveying the depths of the white plastic bowl which was now full of my dead skin.
Um...ick...and WHAT?! Did she just say that, really?
I think we were all a little taken aback that she actually said those words in her sales pitch. "Nasty" and "needs a shower". Yup. Well, that'll sell a bundle of this shit, right? Absolutely. Give me 100 units!
I was offered a few backhanded compliments for my trouble: "Your oily skin is a gift from God." My what is a huh??
Mesmerized by this woman and her accent, I stayed planted on the spot to listen to what else she found hideous about my apparently troll-like skin and greasy, gunk-filled pores, while my children stood by and helplessly watched the drama unfold, their eyes big as saucers.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I had accepted her free presentation with good humor and didn't bloody her lip when she basically told me I was too grotesque to be walking around with normal people. It was time to end this before one of us got hurt.
In an effort to bring about the end of my Trial by Esthetics, I asked, "How much?"
I don't know how they train these people for this stuff, but they do have a knack for it. We got the rundown of a professional salesclerk and were told that the skin of a princess could be ALL MINE for the "low price" of $250. Jeebus, for THAT, I could buy actual princess skin and make myself a princess suit!
She sensed my apprehension and suddenly, as if by magic, the Discount Gnome came along and bippity boppidy booped the entire line of skin care down to $125. I don't know HOW she did it! Amazing!
Still too pricey for my blood, I declined to purchase her wares. Now, maybe her brother needed a new kidney or maybe it was costing her too much to keep fuzzy Uggs on her little feetsies this winter, because she REALLY wanted me to buy this stuff. She was so intent on making the sale, that she whipped out that magical Discount Gnome again and this time the price poofed from $125 to a mere $39.99 for two of the four miracle working products with the additional promise that I could come back tomorrow and get the other two for $15 off the price. Wait, what? Was that $15 off the original price or off the discounted price?
Ah, forget it. Doesn't matter anyway. Somehow I managed to peel myself from her evil clutches and escape with my children, my one soft arm and what was left of my dignity.
While I was at the store, I bought a jar of really good-smelling dead sea salt exfoliant and a bottle of lotion.
Eff you, Kiosk Sniper.
Some Other Stuff I Wrote
One of my favorite humor blogs is Hyperbole and a Half , written by a lovely (albeit slightly demented) woman named Allie Brosh. I fell in...
Ever since I wrote this entry inquiring as to the whereabouts of my very most favoritest writer/cartoonist, I've gotten a lot (Alot) o...
For those of you who are teaching your kids the generic "girls have a vagina" lesson, you ARE teaching them that the proper term...
I like picnics. Sure, I mean, who doesn't? I can hear you now, my Ninja Babies: "I love picnics!" "Ooh, picnics? I...
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about truck testicles. Let me try that again. Lately, I've been thinking a lot about blogging ab...
Our winter holidays started out as normally as they could have, considering who we are. We had our annual dinner and gift exchange at the ...
"...Hallelujah! Holy Shit! Where's the Tylenol?!" Clark W. Grizwold I want...
When we become parents, we simultaneously become amateur photographers. We purchase new cameras and snap pictures left and right, for never...
Kitchens. They are the most common room (apart from nurseries) to have some sort of theme. Some have rooster themes, some have Italian or...
And so it begins. Two weeks ago I told you we were getting fish . This week three teeny, tiny, little non-fish called Zebra Danios were ad...