Hey you ashy bitch? Yeah I’m talking to you. It’s me, your forgotten pal Jergens.
Yeah…don’t act like you don’t see me. You SEE ME. And I SEE YOU and all your flaky glory.
And on behalf of the entire lotion community, enough is enough! I can’t keep watching you walk around dropping flakes everywhere. Either squeeze me or let me pass into the next life cuz this shit is embarrassing. I was put on this bathroom shelf to save lives, elbows, and knees. Not rot away and watch Colgate and Listerine get all of the action.
Maybe you forgot who I am.
I’m the bottle you turn to when your skin stops giving a shit.
I’m the bottle some of you turn to for extracurricular activities.
I’m Ultra Healing Jergens Lotion, Goddamnit!
AND I’M FUCKING TIRED OF BEING DISRESPECTED!
I have been quiet for way too long.
I expire in 10 fucking days and the least you could do, before I get moved to the back of the cabinet with Crusty Mr. Gold Bond, is give me a SQUEEZE.
JUST ONE SQUEEZE!
Shit.
It’s hard out here for a lotion bottle.
And I know it sounds like I’m angry and taking all of my unused 32 ounces of pent up lotion pain out on you.
It’s because I am.
I just miss you okay.
Look. You remember when we first met? A warm, 30 degree Chicago winter day. You rescued me from behind Walmart’s Racist Prison Glass. It was moisture and freedom at first sight. You squeezed me. Mmmm, toasty. Instantly falling in love with my Ultra Healing Abilities.
“Jergens Soup for the Soul,” I believe is what you whispered.
Then you took me home.
That was 17 years ago.
And in those 17 years, you’ve only managed to squeeze me twice. TWICE.
Why have you forsaken me?
I feel empty, even though I’m full.
I feel dry, even though I’m lotion.
I want to go back to the beginning.
The warmth from your hand, wrapping itself around my oddly shaped cream colored body.
The pressure as you squeeze and release me onto your ashy skin.
Caressing me all over your body.
(Lotion Ugly Crying) I miss you…squeezing me.
(Sigh) But, I guess I should have seen this coming.
The minute you brought me home, you sat me down next to five Crusty Mr. Gold Bonds.
I really thought what we had in that shitty WalMart was special.
The way you looked at me with your crooked smile. Hope and moisture in your eyes.
Now, all I see is darkness.
You’re full of dry, flaky, darkness.
And I’m worried.
Are you…are you…okay?
Because you know it’s okay to not be okay.
I haven’t been squeezed in 10 years, so I’m clearly not okay.
Look. I’m sorry for lotion shouting at you earlier. Sometimes I’m sensitive, even though I’m made for sensitive skin.
I just want you to know that I’m always here to talk.
My ultra healing goes beyond your ashy knees and elbows.
Remember: “Jergens Soup for the Soul”
I got you.
No rush though.
Healing takes time.
I won’t be going anywhere.
The five Crusty Mr. Gold Bonds and I will be right here whenever you need us.
When you are ready though, don’t forget to:
Pick, Me.
Choose, Me.
Squeeze, ME.
(No shade, I’m just better than Crusty Mr. Gold Bond).
xoxo