Boobs and Menthol?

February 2, 2006 at 8:33 pm (Funny Shit, Soaping and Knitting)

As some of you know, I do claim to be a soapmaker. I haven't got a space to work in right now (and progress on that front is painfully slow), but once I do I have many nice things plotted and will share them as I get them done. I do nice work, and for that nice work to be affordable to me and those who drool over it, I must score primo ingredients when I can.

As part of said ingredient-scoring, I recently acquired a pound of menthol crystals. They're 100% pure menthol, extracted probably from cornmint essential oil. They smell heavenly if you're into the Hall's Vapor Action school of yumminess. These puppies were so strong I could smell them thru the Priority Mail packing Marti used to send them to me! Sheesh–I could mentholate anything I want–hell, I could mentholate the unwashed masses yearning to be free. It's just a matter of finding room to make anything out of my new hoard of minty-freshness.

For a couple days, they sat next to my printer, making the air redolent with a slightly biting sting. Since I decided I wanted to smell Pink Grapefruit EO instead of minty freshness, I stuck the Ziploc-type bag on a bin sitting under my computer desk, which currently serves to hold my scale, various types of crap, my leave-the-house brassiere, a box of washcloths I need to send to a friend west of me for hurricane refugees (that has been packed for two months–shut it, I can't stand the smell of my printer ink thanks to my stoopid head), a couple of plastic bags, and various assorted shit that gets bumped out of the way when I need to put my feet up.

Monday, circumstances beyond my control dictated a trip to Hel*Mouth (aforementioned head behaving much better when I eat copious amounts of NyQuil-ish shit). Since I never leave the house without a bra, I groped for the one I stash downstairs–it's the best one I own and the one that makes the breasteses look their besteses.

With Honey bellering in the background, I duck into the bathroom (you know, that room with a door that everyone on the planet but my housemates fucking SHUTS when they're shitting?) and hurry into the 18-hour bondage device, then duck back into my shirt and hit the door running to get coat, shoes and…

What?

Sniff.

Henh? What smells so fresh and sinus-clearing…and why do my boobies feel so cool and cheerful and perky-sweet?

SNIFF.

Open neckline of shirt and sniff harder.

I walk into the living room. "Honey? Smell my tits and tell me what you think."

"Oh, I like that–kind of Oriental yet fresh. Who'd you get that scent from?"

"I left my bra too close to that bag of menthol I just got. The Oriental is that Opium dupe I loved so much."

"That's different, Honey."

"Yeah, but do you think anyone will think it's weird, me smelling like this."

"Uh, Serra? We're going to Hel*Mouth. Who gives a shit?"

"True. I can use the smell to keep from whiffing the other customers."

"Yeah, me too."

"No, Honey, you're not sticking your nose in my tits in pubic, I don't care if we see that all the time at Hel*Mouth or not."

Mentholated boobs are an acquired taste, though, much like chocolate covered ants or American Idol–The Shitty Auditions or this blog. You have to like the cooling sensation you'd get by using something like my Peppermint Extra soap–that tingle on your goodies/snootch/junk/family jools/whatever yer pet name favorite is a shock at first, one you either like or scream, "Make it stop! Make it stop!"

I like the Peppermint Extra, but I think mentholating one's tits is just going a little too far, so it's time to get a glass jar for the menthol, and a little cute dish for a couple crystals at a time. After all, a little of this stuff definitely goes a long way.

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