Last Saturday afternoon, C and I wrapped up work on time [glory be] and went to Ruby Tuesdays for a couple chicken BLTs. Which we’re now hopelessly addicted to; we had back-to-backers over the weekend and I may have talked my parents into meeting me for dinner for another one tonight. It’s a problem. A delicious, panko-encrusted, bacon-topped problem.
When we got home, I was running through my regular paranoid Shop Closing Routine Checklist — Did I lock the front door? Close up the back? Did I leave the walk-in cooler open? Is a lamp on, threatening to burn down the building? — and realized that I left a hot glue pan burning on the design counter from a homecoming corsage I made that morning. I paused the episode of Project Runway I was watching on demand (in my bed, mid-sandwich coma) and headed back downtown.
It took all of 60 seconds to unplug the glue pan, so rather than waste the trip, I decided to stop at a health food store for a couple beauty supplies. I should’ve gone to the one downtown near the shop, but I stopped at the one closer to home instead.
I grabbed a big bottle of sweet almond oil and some rosewater spray (which just smells so good). While I was there, I thought I’d check out their chamomile essential oil; my girlfriend uses it for lots of things and I love making scrubs and body moisturizers with different aromatherapy oils. More on that later.
This particular shop keeps all of their essential oils behind the counter, which bugs me because I want to get at them to sniff ‘em, you know? I asked the two ladies at the counter if they had any roman chamomile; which I pronounce, “camo-meal,” for what it’s worth. One lady confirmed they had it in stock, while the other searched the shelves. She said, “I don’t see ‘roman’ chamomile,” — she pronounced it, “camo-mile,” which made me weirdly self-conscious; I decided to google the pronunciation later — “but we have this kind.”
As she passed the bottle to me over the counter, I totally assumed she’d handed it my way so I could take a whiff. So I twisted the cap, and just as I felt the inner seal snap, the other lady exclaimed, “DON’T OPEN IT!”
When the camo-meal/mile oil didn’t explode or spontaneously combust in my hand, I realized that I’d just committed some kind of you-break-it-you-buy-it infraction. “I guess I’ll just… buy it?” I offered. I thought about the last essential oil I purchased there: lavender, for about $15. I turned the tiny bottle over in my hand to peek at the price tag and…
Wait. WUT? $59.99?!
“Do you… know… how much this is? I thought… you were giving it to me… to smell it…” I stammered. One lady looked as surprised as I was, while the other, who I recognized from years of shopping there, explained that it’s one of the priciest essential oils on the market (of course it is) and they don’t even have a tester bottle because it’s so expensive and made of unicorn tears and pixie dust or something; I stopped listening because I was trying to reconcile in my brain that I was about to drop 60 bucks on this tiny bottle of smelly oil I wasn’t even sure I knew how to pronounce.
“Um, do you still want it?” my sister in shock asked. “Um, do I have a choice?” I replied. Nope, it didn’t seem I did. You guys. I can’t even.
I went home and googled “chamomile oil uses,” followed by “how to pronounce chamomile,” (turns out we’re both right) and broke the news to my husband that I spent 3-bottles-of-Tito’s worth of cash on an essential oil that would hopefully change our lives and fix every ailment we ever have. At least, the Internet says it will.
He’s pretty skeptical.
(Currently accepting any and all recommendations for chamomile essential oil, please and thanks.)
In other news, things are picking up at the flower shop as we ease back into our season. We had two big banquet events last week, and the calendar is filling up with weddings, parties, and holiday stuff. In about three blinks, it will be Christmas. Tomorrow is OCTOBER, y’all.
We’re a little bummed to see summer go, but C is coping by keeping busy with his other full-time job, fantasy football, and I’m comforting myself with thoughts of hearty crockpot recipes, pumpkin-centric baked goods, and the return of scarf weather.
And I have a feeling this fall is going to smell like chamomile… ;-)