Gonna Need An Ocean
It is apparent to me that, the older I get, the more of a lizard I’m becoming.
The last few years, once winter hits, my skin dries out. Though it’s not happened yet this winter, I’ve had it where my hands are so dry that they bleed a little. The skin on my back must also get fairly dry, because it gets itchy. And when I say “itchy” here, I mean “feels like if I stretch it too much, the skin could split right open and, BAM, there’d be my spine on display.”
So, of course, I need to put lotion on my hands. Lotion! I object to lotion on the following grounds:
1) Girlie smells.
2) Slimy hands.
It’s a small list, but an important one.
They don’t make moisturizing lotion that smells “manly.” It’s all lavender and cucumber and fruity, and even the standard stuff that isn’t flavored has a definite lotion-y smell to it. While I might really like the smell of vanilla, there’s a difference between liking the smell and smelling of it. I’m not a he-man, lumberjack, motorcycle-riding sort of a man already, and adding “vanilla-scented” to the list of what I am is probably just pushing it.
I also hate, hate, HATE the way my hands feel after lotion is applied. Ever see that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer has just applied hand lotion and then has trouble opening a door? That’s how I feel, even if that doesn’t really happen. It’s kind of the same way I feel after trying to wash my hands with soft water – it feels like there’s a layer of soap still on me. Ewww.
In the end, though, having lotion-scented hands beats out having scaly, bleeding hands. People are slightly less likely to recoil in horror at the lotion-scentedness. Of course, once I regrow a limb and scale the walls looking for insects, they’re back to recoiling, but what can you do?