My little pink bottle

My little bottle of moisturizer is a social worker.

As a moisturizer, it is not particularly great. It claims to be ayurvedic, containing wheat germ oil. It doesn’t. It is little more than perfumed water pretending to be a lotion. As soon as the water evaporates, your hands are not left feeling any softer than before.

But it smells of roses. Artificial of course, but nevertheless. The bottle sits here on my desk in my office, pink and inviting. People who sit by me for a chat pick it up in the course of the conversation. People passing by pick it up while they stand by for a moment. I even got a guy to use it once when he was feeling depressed because of a bad back.

‘You’re bored? Here let me pour a bit on your palm. Rub it on your hands and smell the sweet perfume.’

‘Feeling a little in the dumps? Come, have a dollop and pamper yourself for a moment.’

‘You look real happy! Celebrate with the fragrance of roses!’

Everyone knows this silly thing does not moisturize. Yet they will kidnap the bottle, adopt it while I’m away, spill the liquid in an attempt to get it out absent-mindedly. Something works here. Whether it is the smell, the act of rubbing it on your hands (I very much believe in touch therapy), the need to do something mindless while you’re unburdening your mind, I don’t know.

I had earlier thought of buying a bottle of Vaseline moisturizer once this one gets over. But Vaseline will not do anything other than soften hands. It has this very manufactured perfume. The bottle is a clinical looking blue-and-white. Hmmm… who wants soft hands anyway?