Some silliness for you (an ode):
From the earliest moments of my thirteenth year,
all acne and angst, allowance in hand
you have been there
Reliably, you inhabit the bottom shelves of supermarket rows
the unsung hero of adolescents
cornerstone of young women
nostalgic BFF of less-than-eager thirty-pushers
Resilient in the face of lesser marketing, you remain
I remember racing home with you in my pocket for the first time,
sure that your gentle exfoliation
would rid me of my insecurities
sure that your tiny pit pieces
would scrub me into the adulthood I so desperately craved.
So rarely have I entered a bathroom without seeing your fruity face
peeking out from behind someone’s shampoo bottle
lounging on medicine cabinet shelves
an ever present hallmark of a generation
the beauty product of our lives
Here’s to you, St. Ives Apricot Scrub. Here’s to your all natural ingredients, your happy apricot-y backtoeightgrade smell, and your reliable three dollar price tag. Way to be a Cheap Thrill Classic.
You know it’s true.