Bath Salts and the Like DO Kill

There used to be a small strip mall near our neighborhood where we kids hung out constantly. This was before structured time for your kids and we were shoved out the door to “go find fun yourselves!”

In that strip mall was a CVS that somehow tolerated our going in and out as we rarely bought anything. Mostly we hung out by the magazine shelf pawing through them. They didn't keep the Playboys, Hustler's behind the counter then either. That's awfully liberal of CVS, but it was the 70's. What was done was that those magazines were hermetically sealed in shrink wrap.

On the chance that we did buy something, we'd go up to the registrars and pay. I can remember discovering some old ladies you could smell if you were within ten feet of them. They had this cloud of cheap perfume that hit you like hammer. It was either that or the nose stinging Ben Gay that they slathered on. It was like an atomic Wintergreen Lifesaver.

My Mom was not entirely different though. On some days, my Mom, and am sure others, would take a bath during the midday. She'd have various lotions, baubles that dissolved or salts that melted away in the water and colored it, scented it. Most times it wasn't that bad. I knew that if Mom was going into the bath, it meant that:

--She was not to be disturbed, for a good hour...or more.

--I could not use the bathroom, even if my bladder about to burst. (I learned that pissing behind the shed was a good emergency plan)

--If the phone rang or there was a knock on the door, I was to handle all inquires.

--Above all: I was to remain QUIET.

It wasn't all that bad, since she was in the tub, I had run of the house as she wasn't about to come out anytime soon .

But there was one thing I could not stand.

Jean Nate.

My Mom used to splash this stuff into the tub as she was filling it. This stuff would STINK up the whole house and I found it incredibly offensive. I was stuck in the CVS again, behind an old lady polluting the air around her.

No matter where I went in the house, this pernicious stuff would travel far and wide and get into every nook and cranny. I began to fear that I, as a boy, would start smelling of it.

When I was nine I thought going upstairs into my bedroom would save me. No, it was just as syrupy up there. I made a decision. I thought I'd rather shiver than put up with the odor and I opened up my bedroom window and my brother's across the way for some fresh air. January air mind you.

It worked some. It did clear it out somewhat. After she was done and drained the tub, it mercifully took that Jean Nate down with it. I came downstairs and could breathe once more. After a bit, she took me to go shopping. When we came home, she noticed my brother's window open and commented on that. She then went ballistic when she found MY window open as well.

“WHO opened up those windows! It's JANUARY!” This was aimed at me of course.

“Don't you know the cost of oil heat? Don't you have any idea what it TAKES to MAKE the money to buy it! What's going through your mind???” It seemed like she'd never shut up.

As a nine year old, you don't always have the best answers and sometimes honesty is not the best policy.

I had told her that the Jean Nate stunk up the whole house and I was trying to air it out. That didn't go over too well. Boys are great for inadvertently insulting their own Moms.

**

It's been nearly two decades since my Mom has gone on. After the funeral, the phone calls and the whole episode is done, I started going through the house ridding it of her junk and to keep things that I'd remember her by. I tossed her incredible library of Ladie's Home Journals. Why she kept them I have no idea. I kept all those Kodak photos of her though. As I was going through her bureau I came across this:

A bottle of Jean Nate.

I stood there with a bit of astonishment. “God..I remember THIS stuff.” I opened it up and sniffed. Yep, just as offensive as ever! I found out just holding the bottle gets it on your hands and I washed it off not too long after.

I never threw the bottle out if you can believe that. This was a memento I HAD to keep. I have it to this day. When I took this picture of it, I had to wash my hands again to rid me of that smell.