Recently feeling the need to exfoliate my face and by doing so hoping it would reveal a well rested 26 year old face, I turned to an old stand by that I have often looked at on the grocery shelf. St. Ives Apricot Scrub. I’ve looked at it many many many times. It smells divine. The word “invigorating” on the package spoke to me. I wanted to be invigorated. I knew that Allure magazine gave it the reader’s choice award in 2008. But there was still this part of me that could not purchase it for fear of losing an eye.


It occurred to me a few weeks ago that I was a ridiculous human to be purposely avoiding a facial scrub. I had endured child birth TWICE for crying out loud. I could take on this freaking scrub.

Why the avoidance?

In high school, I always admired the way B took care of herself. She was all about products and lotions and knew how to apply makeup perfectly. She’s a lovely feminine girlie with beautiful skin. She STILL has beautiful skin. No wrinkles. I’m not lying.

One day, while exfoliating and dutifully caring for her skin, Becca got some of those invigorating granules in her eye. It was horrifically painful and she had to go to the doctor and get it flushed. The whole episode ended in an eye patch. She had to wear it to school. The horror. I can’t remember how long she had to wear it. A few days? A week? Regardless, it scarred me.

Isn’t it interesting the way certain events manifest themselves?

Apricot Scrub…conquered.