This is embarrassing. Who’d have thought I’d be groveling to you, the makers of my boyfriend’s all-in-one product? But here I am. I used to tease my BF about his magical soap-body wash-shampoo-conditioner,-lotion-zit remover-and (though the bottle advised against this) mouthwash. I scoffed. “Snake oil,” I sneered while, ironically, wearing a mask of snake slime on my own face.
Now I want to use the product (singular!) that will do it all. Give me some of that sweet snake essence! My life is in shambles. You can tell by the state of my bathroom. I don’t dare open the bathroom cabinet. Every time the door creaks open an avalanche of products comes pouring out, like the shining scene with the blood in the elevator. My cat was sleeping in the sink one time when my boyfriend, foolishly looking for a razor, decided access those forbidden shelves. We still haven’t unearthed the cat.
I want time, which for the last decade has been the property of numerous beauty routines. I envy those who are able to think of songs or novel ideas while showering. One can’t while focused listening for the timer because woe to the fool who leaves her mud mask on for longer than 20 minutes. Water-based intimacy is also out the window. Any boyfriend of mine knows that it is impossible to contort two bodies around the various potions bottles and special brushes required to make my skin that impossibly soft pelt he likes so much.
So please give me the holy all-in-one product that you’ve seen fit to give to men. Just make sure it cleans and softens my hair, my skin (and liver), purifies/moisturizes/anti-ages, brightens/invigorates my face, and vanishes pores, under eye circles, and crippling anxiety.
Take my money. Take my soul (if Sephora gives it back). My future is in your godlike hands.