Am I the only person who wonders how they get the stripes in the toothpaste? Those perfect little stripes — whether you squeeze, like a good person, from the bottom, or like a lowlife slob, from the middle or top of the tube — still those little red and blue soldiers slide out in perfect formation to battle the nasty plaque ravaging your teeth.
How do they do it, the people who make this toothpaste? If you google the question you will find self-proclaimed experts who explain how the colors are packed in little separate vessels along the sides, or else there’s a special doohickey in the nozzle. But these internet sources — who can believe them? I found a web address on my tube of toothpaste, and I emailed Customer Service and asked the question. The VERY disappointing, inadequate answer flew quickly back to me, carried along the etheric electrons of my computer: It’s the very special, scientific way we pack the toothpaste into the tube.
So when my 6-year-old grandson came over, we cut open a more-or-less empty tube, and FOUND…
Nothing. It was empty, apart from a few smears of purplish slime. No special pouches or anything. Well, the whole thing was a big letdown, I can tell you, and I still don’t understand it.
Along those lines, of general consumer ennui in relation to generally acceptable products, I remember smelling a man’s deodorant, when I was in my 20s (from the product, not the armpit!), which had an unforgettable scent. It reminded me of a watery brown suntan lotion my mother used to rub on my little arms when I was about four years old. This seems poignant to me now, since my mother died over 30 years ago. Anyway, at the time (she was still living), I wrote a letter to Mennen and asked about the fragrance. In due time I received a polite letter (this would have been about 1967, long before such missives were called “snail mail”) informing me that the scent was called “lavender fougere.”
Something about the fragrance evoked for me a sunny beach, and a happy, young family. Perhaps I could still find the actual suntan lotion?
Unfortunately, Mennen had no idea about the product I referred to and a little peevishly denied ever manufacturing a watery brown lotion. The only way I could get that fragrance, I deduced, was to start using that man’s deodorant. Despite the exotic overtones of this conclusion, I felt let down and unsatisfied. (I’ve forgotten the man and only remember the great smell of his deodorant.)
Which brings me to the emotional rollercoaster of today. Naturally, I just googled lavender fougere and found a site that will sell me one milliliter of the fragrance in a tiny glass vial for only $3. I was tempted. Then I saw the shipping charge would be $5.95, so I thought, no, I’ll skip it. Nine bucks for a memory? I already have the memory, and it’s free. I’m always spending bits of money like that, and then, in the end, I have to refinance my house. Anyway, I never actually wear any perfume-y eaux, which seem superfluous after the scented soap and shampoo, mousse and hairspray that are absolute essentials of my toilette.
At the end of the day, I’m left wondering if perhaps I have a bit too much time on my hands.
