Ah, there’s nothing like the smell of napalm in the morning. Except chamomile. Chamomile is like the smell of napalm in the morning.
I didn’t realize how much I did not like chamomile until last night’s bath, which is why I bought it in the first place. I was in the fru-fru bath aisle (which in retrospect was my first mistake), looking specifically for Epsom salts. I had read that soaking in Epsom salts was great for sore muscles, and at this point in my half-marathon training, my hips don’t lie. They hate me. The only Epsom salts I could find were scented with either lavender or chamomile, and since the smell of lavender reminds me of my deceased grandmother’s bathroom spray, I went with the chamomile. I don’t believe I had ever before smelled chamomile, but it had pretty daisies on the front, so how bad could it be?
So last night, after my 8 mile training run, I was really looking forward to a 20 minute soak. Until I poured in the bath salt. (Not to be confused with “bath salts”, which I understand are quite the rave with crackheads.) The flowery smell was beyond overwhelming. Again, it reminded me of my grandmother, but instead of her bathroom spray, it called to mind the old Avon perfume she wore to church on Sunday nights. I began sneezing violently. Still, needing the relief for my poor muscles, I cracked the window and slid into the tub. I put on some relaxing music and tried to rest. And I continued sneezing violently. I tolerated the offense to my senses for about 10 minutes, tops, and I had to drain the water, rinse the tub and shower off.
Thinking I was cleansed of the smell, I put on my robe and went to the living room, where I found I still reeked of chamomile. And later, as I tried to sleep, I realized it was actually stuck up my nose. I woke up surrounded by Kleenex. Kleenex that smelled like chamomile. And snot.
I made my way into the bathroom this morning, and was greeted once again by, you guessed it. Freaking chamomile. I believe it may have actually gotten through the paint and seeped into the drywall. I fear it has wormed its way into the wall studs and will remain for the life of this house. Or worse. It may have seeped through the pipes into the ground, where it will slowly poison all of humanity. Or at least make us all smell like a church lady.
Lesson learned. I am as opposed to smelly bath products as I am to smelly perfume (which in my opinion, is all perfume.) I will look for my Epsom salts in the pharmacy aisle, with the Ben-Gay and the Aspercreme, and leave the fru-fru stuff to the girly-girls. If I’m going to run like a badass, I should smell like one too.