Fat Thigh-roid Woes: Joy and Maple
I just passed my 1 year anniversary of having RAI done, and I can’t believe –
1. How fast my lame boy haircut has finally grown out and I look like a girl again.
2. How much weight I’ve gained and lost in the past year.
3. That the dish soap in the kitchen at work is the same soap I used while I was in my RAI seclusion, and every single time I use it I think about that extended stay room/prison.
Why the hell do our brains remember scent so well? WHY? Why does it have to evoke emotion?
Everything about that week while I stayed away from people hasn’t left my mind. I still remember the smell of that fucking soap, I remember the smell of the bath towels, the shampoo I used, the smell of the gross sheets, the scent of the gnarly bedspread, the smell of my maple instant oatmeal, and the smell of the burnt toast as a result of me being careless the first night I was there. I even remember the smell of the few days of rain that occurred, because that rain smells different than any other rain I’ve inhaled. I don’t think I remember these things so well because of how scary it was to undergo this process, but because my body felt off. I was violated by that stupid gray pill, and my entire being was in fight or flight mode.
My mind is making me remember because it’s trying to give me the message: “recall everything about this because you were in danger when you used that Joy soap, that Pantene shampoo, and those towels. If you’re ever in another situation with these products, you will want…nay, NEED to run.”
Every time I wash my coffee cup in the work sink with that stupid Joy soap – I want to flee from the kitchen, and a tingle of panic creeps up my spine. Yeah, could be because I want to leave work and go to the park, but STILL, I want to RUN.
When will the unpleasantness run as well? How long does my brain need to hold onto these emotions?
I had a boyfriend back in the day that always smelled like freshly baked cookies. Maybe that’s why I love cookies so much….nah, cookies are awesome on their own. But now when I smell cookies, I don’t recall him at all – I think about how I just want to eat a delicious and warm cookie.
Do we remember the bad more than the good? Is it for protection, preservation, or to just DRIVE US MAD? How do we create a friendlier scent & emotion connection?
I’m ready to start a campaign against Joy soap and put them outta business, and they really did nothing wrong besides daring to exist. I’m pumped to go to every store in my area, gather Joy soap in those old musty towels from the hotel, and toss in every Maple Instant oatmeal to drive them off a cliff – Thelma and Louise style. They’ll clasp hands, and a polaroid picture will fall out the back of my boring Honda Civic displaying Joy and Maple Instant Oatmeal smiling and looking so ecstatic to start their road trip of TORTURING ME along a long stretch of road in Arizona.
I feel like the pervy truck driver from the movie that made obscene hand gestures to those two chicks. I got lured into pulling my semi off the road believing a blow job was in my near future; however, my Big Rig was the only thing to get blown….up. Now I can never trust another Joy or Maple Instant ever again. They have ruined it, those stupid bitches.
I will never honk my horn at another one of you ever again. I will never make stupid kissy noises ever again. I will nevermore glance in your nasty direction. I’m going gay.
Next time I see one of you, I’m running for reals. For REALSIES.
I’m either not washing my coffee cup anymore, or I’m going to bring in my own soap and be the weirdo girl that is “too good for cheap Joy soap, she’s a Dawn Princess…”
Let the water cooler talk begin, I don’t give a flying fek. At least I’ll preserve the air of mystery that surrounds me (well, in my own mind I walk around with an “air of mystery” just cause it’s sexier than being “all figured out”.)
By the end of my employment, I want to hear a rumor that I sold a kidney on the black market to pay for a new set of tits.
My vanity knows no bounds. “Oh, you don’t know her? She’s the Dawn Princess with a rack that won’t quit.”
I quite like that better than the “Sketchy Girl that cries and shakes when she washes her Garfield mug in the sink.”