Guilty Pleasures: In Defense of Bubble Baths September 26, 2008

You know, I’m not even going to call this a guilty pleasure. I have no feelings of remorse about it, because after a long day – and there have been a few of those lately – the only fool-proof way of setting my mood straight when I get home is a long, hot bath. And I’m talking loooong. Like, soaking long enough to get my fingers and toes all pruny and then adding more hot water.

Some days I’ll drink hot tea during, sometimes wine, sometimes a cocktail. Sometimes I’ll burn a candle, or add bubbles, or salts, or oils. Or maybe all of them.

Some days I’ll listen to music during, and sometimes all I want to hear is the rushing of the water. When I like accompaniment, it’s usually something light-hearted and girlie, like Life by the Cardigans or Youth Novels by Lykke Li (a new favorite).

And sometimes – embarrassing though it may sound – it’s the soundtrack to Something’s Gotta Give. Sounds horribly campy, and maybe it is, but it’s a fantastic mix of late 50s/early 60s pop and old French standards. And honestly, does it get any better than Louis Armstrong singing La Vie En Rose?

(There’s an unfortunate cover of the same song by Jack Nicholson at the end of the album. I generally try to forget that one).

For the most part I read during baths – my books and magazines are notoriously crinkly and water-marked as a result. But sometimes all I want to do is completely submerge my head in the hot water and hide from everything.

I’m not sure what it is that makes baths so comforting. Is it the sounds? The smells? All sensations combined? Enveloping oneself in such warmth is rather womb-like, I suppose.

But no matter the combination of accessories or additives, a long bath is an instant cureall to whatever ails me. Maybe that’s why the boy doesn’t complain when I disappear for hours at a time …

No Scents. No Scents At All. September 4, 2008

I feel the need to go perfume shopping. Things have been crazy hectic stressful around here lately, and typically when that happens I get a craving for a little retail therapy – more specifically the need to go shopping for something that looks pretty and smells good. What can I say? There’s a shallow little priss-pot hidden inside this girl.

I’ve written before about my fondness for perfumes, and my inability to stick with just one. I have two or three staples I stand by, and all of those bottles are currently empty, but I can’t decide whether I want to replenish one or go searching for something new – always an adventuresome prospect, though a bit complicated by the fact that I like for the boy to think I actually smell nice, so his opinion on such matters counts.

And something tells me that an afternoon of schlepping around Sephora would not be his idea of a great time.

When we first started dating, a little over two years ago, I decided that a certain body lotion I often wore in high school, that I’d always adored, would layer quite nicely with the perfume I was wearing then. It was the perfect variation on vanilla – I’m very picky about my vanilla scents – and I used to get nothing but compliments when I wore it back then. I got very excited about this prospect, and rushed out to the store to get some. Just my luck, it was on sale (one of those buy five get two free deals – I was stocked up for life).

We had a date that night. He was going to make me dinner at his house. While I was getting ready, I was thinking about stories I’d heard about grandmothers telling their granddaughters to dab a little vanilla extract on their wrists and behind their ears to attract men. Apparently this stuff is like flypaper for guys. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

Cut to later that evening. We’re sitting on his couch watching TV after dinner. He puts his arm around me and snuggles in closer.

“Is that vanilla?” he asks.

Yes, it is. I’m feeling quite proud of myself at this point. Do you like it?

“My mom used to wear that when I was little.”

Er …

As I tried to think of an inconspicous way to scrub the offending product off my skin, I decided I would never buy beauty products in bulk again. You can’t mess with scent and memory; that’s a battle that can’t be won. And I’m not about to encourage that association. Needless to say the lotion has sat untouched ever since.

So yeah, maybe a joint trip to the perfume counter wouldn’t be a horrible idea. Would that make me an evil girlfriend?