Ulta's Fruit Stand

I spent some time at my favorite cosmetic store and realized that although I thought I was surrounded by SPF 50 self-tanners, facial creams, mineral make-up, and anti-aging lip balm, I was really in a grocery store.

On the skin care/produce aisle I beheld cucumber eye pads. These nifty little rounds are printed to look like cukes and should be stored in the fridge before placing them on the eyes to reduce tiredness and swelling. Next to them I found several seaweed extract formulas and polishing facial scrubs containing raspberry seeds, avocadoes, and pure honey. Even as I write I have a mint julep (Yes, this indeed seemed the most appropriate flavor for me since none of them were marked "dirty martini.") masque drawing the impurities from my cheeks. After all, do we really want to put "mud" on our faces if it doesn't have the word "peach," "strawberry," or "melon" in the name? I guess if any of these items drip, I can just lick my fingers.

As I moved on to the row of mineral-based make-up I thought the food references might end since the silken powders I prefer are made from rocks not food. I was wrong. The bases themselves sported the standard tags of fair, light, medium, and dark; however, the eye shadows, blushes and lipsticks featured food references galore. My eyes wandered through grape-a-liscious, berry delight, and peach parfait before moving on to simply strawberry, frosty plum, and watermelon sorbet. Richer descriptions including chocolate kiss, candied brandy, and coffee cream beaconed beyond the fruit. By this time, my quest for some new face paint was making me hungry, and I still hadn't made it to the checkout.

On my way I faltered at the lotion/spice aisle. Here I inhaled the scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and brown sugar. These were mixed into heady creams meant to soften the skin and intoxicate the user each night before bed, suggesting a sleep filled with dreams of gingerbread and crumb cake. Is it any wonder I can't lose weight? I managed to leave this area with only a couple of additions to my basket, but my willpower was waning.

Finally, I stood in front of the register, only a few steps from the door and a bill that could have rivaled my weekly trip to the grocery store if I had stayed any longer. As I scurried toward the exit with my pink grapefruit sack of creamy treats, I heard the women behind me discussing how much they loved the coconut lime bath gel because it smelled like a tropical drink. Alas, it was all I could do to save myself, so I abandoned them to their fate and stepped into the cool evening air that (blissfully) did not smell of food.