Log in


This is fact not fiction for the first time in years

When I was a little girl, my father was almost never home. His job constantly had him on an airplane off to the big Elsewhere, and me wondering why I wasn't getting my one...three...five bed time stories.

After a while he stopped bringing back gifts, likely because he didn't want to spoil his daughters. It didn't matter much..the only thing I really wanted was my bed time story. And hotel shampoo.

Next to the return of my daddy from the great big unknown Elsewhere, the most exciting thing about the end of his trip was the shampoo, conditioner, and soaps he brought back with him from the different hotels his company put him up at. By the time I was ten, the basket under the sink in the bathroom was full of variations of the same thing. Some with yellowed wrappers, some half opened. I still don't really understand my preoccupation with these tiny bottles.

A day or so ago I mentioned to my dad that I was out of shampoo and conditioner, and it had completely slipped my mind to stop at walgreens on the way home from work. He offered me some shampoo/conditioner that he brought back from the last hotel he stayed at in New York. I said no thank you, not bothering to explain that I needed better quality conditioner for my hair, because my hair is still dried out from dying it back to my natural color.

When I went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet I saw the little bottles staring back at me. Neglected. What is it about growing up that makes things less special? Is it the blissful ignorance of being new to the world? When do we start caring about stupid shit like whether or not our hair is dried out? When did I stop getting bed time stories?

And why the fuck is it that even after this thought struck me, I used some overpriced goop from Bath and Body Works? Its just some variation of the same little bottles. It just doesn't mean anything anymore.

Growing up is the pits. I think maybe this is the reason we have children. We just want to remember what it was like to stop overthinking.
Tags: ,