Thursday, January 28, 2010


When Big Dog was little, he loved lotion. Any chance he'd get he's swipe my lotion and dab it on his face. Then he'd want to slather it on my face, or the face of anyone who happened to be handy. This delighted his Uncle Stan, a long time proponent of ample moisturizing. His dad was less giddy about the fascination. After lotion came lip balm, and my purse was routinely raided for whatever tubes he could find there. He also loved any kind of cream or balm that was packaged in a little tin. I was less than happy to share these with him, since he favored method of applying my beloved Rosebud Salve was to dig his pointy little finger into the bottom of the tin then scoop up a giant chunk of the stuff to glop on his face. In time this fascination has passed. He still enjoys a good spay of bug repellent in the summer, but apart from that, and the occasional overzealous application of anti-tangle spray to his hair, we have outgrown the product phase of his life.

Little Dog, on the other hand, is in the thick of this phase. While he used to be very interested in my make up, or my "colors" as he called them, he has moved on. No longer does he plead with me to have his toe nails painted the same color as mine. (Pleas to which I gladly complied, I must add, no matter how much it annoyed his father.) He's moved on. Now he's onto the man stuff. Mr. Dog's deodorant to be specific. He's kind of obsessed. On more than one occasion, I've walked into the bathroom and found him applying it to every uncovered surface of his body, and let's not forget the top of his head. We've told him it is not his and that he should not be using his Papa's stuff without asking, but apparently the allure of the sport stick is too compelling. I never know what day I'll lean down to pick up my sweet-faced imp and catch a whiff of the Old Spice man.

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