I am usually better about submitting my latest blog post closer to noon Eastern Standard Time. Not today! I have good reason, promise. Aren’t all reasons good? I’m sorry to my international readers who gave up on waiting around for me and are sound asleep. I’ll still be here tomorrow, friends, you can catch up then!
Wednesday blog post…
Here we go…
I love me some magazines, Chronics. September is the month for fashion, and therefore for fashion magazines.
In case you don’t know, that’s because it is Fashion Week in New York City. Fashion Week technically occurs twice a year, the other time being in February/March, but really, September is the be all and end all. This is when the true life versions of Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada tell us all what to wear next year.
Now, I know from experience to be very careful about how much I listen to other people telling me how to dress (really, by now you should have read That Time I Let Sigourney Weaver Tell Me What To Do, July 30, because I reference it so often I’m surprised I’ve yet to receive a Cease and Desist order from her People). As such, I’m not going to be wearing anything that Kim Kardashian would, even if Anna Wintour tells me it’s the <BestThingEver>. #IStillDontGetThatFriendship
I confess, I am a clothes ogler.
Because have you seen the previews of the Scandal collection that is coming to The Limited? Those coats? <OhMyOliviaPope> I want a cape coat so much. I am quite sure I will be making some poor financial decisions come the 23rd (it’s official debut date).
Or I won’t. Because I kinda need blood pressure meds more than I need a Kerry Washington approved wardrobe.
It is a REALLY close call though.
So there I was, going about my clothes ogling business, perusing the latest InStyle, when suddenly, my eye started to twitch.
This happens, sometimes.
I promise it has nothing to do with over-exposure to Ralph Lauren (I. Freaking. Love. Ralph. Lauren.). Unless…
Yep, Ralph Lauren is on the list of Offenders.
What kind of Offender?
The overzealous Perfume Sample kind.
Listen, I love that Ralph (we are on a first name basis, I’ve decided) uses an actual Polo player to hawk his Polo cologne. That’s pretty cool, Friend, way to stay true to your roots. However, I do not need to know what this Polo player ostensibly smells like pre-match, especially in such a strong way that even after I wash my hands post-Perfume Sample handling, I can still detect a trace of it on my fingertips.
I mean, maybe, some people like that sort of thing.
I, however, don’t particularly care for eye twitching, so I will be updating my subscription to “No Perfume Samples,” which you can adjust on most magazine websites.
Chemical sensitivities are a real thing, and I bet if you are a Chronic (and even if you aren’t!) there is some chemical somewhere that causes your neurological system to freak out <JustATinyBit>.
Perfume Samples are enemy #1 to me, as are their related counter-part, the Heavily Perfumed Person. I mean this in all seriousness- sometimes I will choose the longer grocery store line if it means that I won’t get trapped in close quarters with an overzealous user, even if it means more time in an upright, and therefore POTS-unfriendly, position. Male or female, apparently Heavy Perfume is not just for Great-Aunt Betsy anymore.
I also have trouble with household cleaners. I am very specific about what I use to clean. I haven’t yet gone so far as to Martha Stewart the place with vinegar and baking soda, eschewing all chemicals for all eternity, but I’ve thought about it. Then I think I don’t want my house smelling like somebody’s third grade science volcano, so I err on the side of chemicals I know don’t freak my system out. Preferably the lemon scented ones.
This is how severe my chemical cleaner intolerance is: there is a popular, very long road in my area where a whole bunch of stores are situated. I can comfortably shop from Whole Foods to Target, and then from Bed, Bath, and Beyond up to the Movie Theater. However, I can’t go into the stores located between Giant and Bed, Bath and Beyond (sorry, readers who aren’t familiar with my geographical location, I promise this makes sense to some people). They are all cleaned by the same company, and when I walk into Trader Joe’s, TJ Maxx or Five Below, I immediately break out in hives and feel like it’s hard to breathe. Yuck.
I have to go all the way to <ADifferentTown> to fulfill my Maxxinista needs. Double Yuck.
I feel like chemicals are getting a lot of press these days, as we are in the age of realizing that everything that made life easier for our parents and grandparents is now going to slowly and painfully kill the rest of us. Just as I’ve had to learn to reign in my fervent passion for Cynthia Rowley jersey knit dresses, I’ve had to learn to tone down the fanaticism with which I approach health information.
Ok, so my lemon scented bathroom cleaner was probably created in a science lab. But it happens to be a science lab that is appears to be compatible with my neurological systems as far as I know, so I’m not going to hold it against them right now. And if I happen to grow webbing between my toes as a result of my feet touching a surface cleaned with that product, well perhaps it will make me a better swimmer.
I know it might seem hypocritical for me to be cranky about <OneSet> of cleaners (Lavender scent, you are the devil!) and not another.
Chemicals are chemicals, right?
I’m choosing to pick my battles. Sometimes you just can’t over-think things.
…Like that cape coat. I’m totally getting one.
Are you chemically sensitive, Chronic reader? Tell me all about your chemical pet peeves in the Comments or over on my Facebook page: www.facebook.com/iamchronicallywell