Yes, I've tried that brand of natural deodorant. And that brand. And that other brand. I'm sticking with the chemicals because they work for me and hopefully my body can sustain the long-term trauma. But if I do die from this habit, please write on my grave:
"Here lies Nasreen, dropped dead from deodorant. She was just trying to smell nice for you."
It's just like sitting in a recliner, except the chair is a giant thong and your legs are basically mummified and if you let go you might die.
I did not purchase these Chocolate Chirp cookies made out of ground up crickets (“cricket flour”) but I took a picture for you. Now I’m considering going back for them because, you know, I might get invited to a hipster potluck.
I walked down a back alley and got caught up in a hipster party. Someone dumped an avalanche of dried apricots on the charcuterie table. A woman suggested that I sit in a cabana and try on a maroon velvet turban. Several tween bodyguards fidgeted in their skinny jeans and adjusted their sunglasses. I’m covered in glitter stars and all I can think about is essential oils and rattan. Was that an initiation ceremony? Am I one of them now?
My name is Nasreen. I write micro essays, one-liners, and other small things. Most of them were funny at some point, at least to me.