Retail Therapy Gone Awry....

I am pretty sure the women of Sephora hate me.  I was recently seduced by a Dr. Perricone infomercial, and decided I could use a therapeutic trip to the mall, to pay an absurdly large amount of money, for a promise in a jar, for tighter, firmer skin.

Once home I eagerly opened the package...I am going to have the neck of a twenty year old, I foolishly giggled to myself.  As I unscrewed the lid, a foul odor smacked me in the face. I looked inside, to a watery, grayish cream.  This just doesn't seem right.

I marched myself back into the store, receipt, in hand.

"I'd like to make a return."
"Is there anything wrong with your purchase?"
"Yes.  It smells."
"Really?"
"Yes.  Really."
Cashier opens jar.  Her young, twenty something face scrunches up into a prune.
I think she might heave.
"But, everyone loves this cream," she says holding her breath.
"Really?  People like the smell of sewage on their face?"
A woman behind me pokes her head over for a whiff.
"That's bad."
The cashier speaks in a low tone to her manager. "Is it supposed to be this color?"
"Yes.  There aren't any additives."
The manager looks me straight in the eyes. "We can't keep these on the shelf."
I may look like a pushover...
I remembered Husband's advice, "Don't talk.  The less you say, the better."
There was a thirty second stand off.
I couldn't take this charade one second longer.
"Nothing can turn back the hands of time, short of surgery.  If this worked, you wouldn't have shelves overflowing, with every shape and size of endless products.  And if I'm going to delude myself into thinking some potion will work, it better smell good."

I walked out.  Return accomplished.  I could feel the manager's eyes searing into the back of my head.  I don't think I'll be going back anytime soon.

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