Once upon a time I had this friend, and whenever I went over to her house, we did one of three things: watch Alice in Wonderland, play dress up, or play with barbies.
For some reason, her barbies were kept in a cubbyhole/closet-type-thing underneath the stairs, in her basement. There was no light in this little space, so whenever we were in there, her mother would plug in a small lamp, and place it on the floor inside, where we were playing. We were always very careful to never touch the light, as it didn't have a shade. Just an exposed light bulb.
(Thinking back, I don't know why we didn't just pull the barbies out into the open space and play with them there).
Now I was a good seven-year-old. I knew that light bulbs were hot, and getting too close to it would be bad for me. And I knew that when an adult told me not to do something (like, don't touch the light), they meant it. Obedience was practically my middle name.
So we were playing with barbies. And of course, we had the shade-less lamp. And her mother decided to put it under a little plastic chair, so that we wouldn't accidentally bump into the lamp. And she made sure we understood that we were not to sit on the chair, nor put anything on it. Again, I was smart (and good). I knew that the chair would get hot. That fact did not escape me at my young age.
Everything was going just fine until I had to go to the bathroom. I put my barbies down, crawled out of the cubbyhole, and went to take care of business. Which meant that I was no longer near the exposed lamp. Which meant I forgot that I had to be cautious. I went from smart to absentminded in mere minutes.
Oh you guys. You just have no idea.
When I got back from the bathroom, I went back inside the cubbyhole, and sat down on that plastic chair.
And BURNED my BUTT!
When I went screaming and wailing upstairs, I'm sure my friend's parents (and my own parents too) thought it was just hilarious that I fried my own bottom, but they never laughed at me while I was in their presence.
And what does this have to do with Noxzema? I will tell you.
I'm not exactly sure what my mom used to heal my poor roasted heiney, but the combination smell of the ointment and medical tape was the same smell now emanating from my face, covered in clay mask.
And while it may have provided some nostalgia for me, and a little comic relief for you, it also gave me quite a headache. As you might have guessed by now, I won't be using that particular product again.
So there you have it. Noxzema Butt Paste Clay Mask; smells like the time you set fire to your arse. Destined to join the other products in our bathroom medicine cabinet that we don't use, and probably never will.
