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                        >> "Carmex Rocks My World" <<
                                    *or*
      >> Confessions of a Hardcore, Down & Out, Gutter-Dwellin' Addict <<

                              by -> MoonBagel

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------

        I have a dirty little secret.  My family and friends have their
 suspicions, I'm sure, but they dare not confront me with their accusations
 and tears and hurt.

        I have it completely under control.  Really.  I just don't want to
 quit -- I like it.  And how could I not?  The euphoric bliss as my body
 absorbs the sweet balm...

        I used to use it occasionally.  Maybe during the cold, dry, lonely
 winter months when I needed to cling to something tangible instead of
 maddening abstract thoughts about God and the universe and my purpose, if
 any of those really existed outside of my confused, lost adolescent cranium.
 Philosophical musings contented me in the warmer seasons -- they'd float
 about in front of my face and behind my head and inside of it, too --
 sometimes they would bump and merge.  Oftentimes the bubbles would just
 burst.

        In the winter I could ski, sled, raise general hell -- but I was
 always yearning for something I could keep in my pocket or hold in my hand.
 Those outdoor activities were maddening for lack of a suitable talisman.

        Along came my satori.

        I was 14 years old, out raising some of that crazy middle school
 hell.  I could take it no longer -- my lips were cracked and
 uncharacteristically crimson, and I could bear not another minute without
 that mystical healing agent I sensed was in close proximity.

        "I am chapped!  I must have a balm!"  I howled, startling cats and
 younger siblings and elderly passersby.  They assumed it was just my lips
 that were chapped, but this sensation was so much more profound than that.
 It reached my soul.

        "Shut up -- use my Carmex."

        And thus ends my search, and begins my gradual downfall.  Those first
 weeks I would be satisfied merely having my little yellow-capped talisman
 close at hand, in case of emergencies.  I would smooth a thin,
 barely-perceivable layer over my lips, and instantly be soothed for days.  I
 was strong.

        There were no suspicions -- there was no problem.  There isn't any
 real problem now.  "My, you have moist, un-chapped lips!" was the only
 comment I heard regarding my special friend.

        Now I hear snickering as I pass acquaintances and former friends on
 the street.  I try to tell myself that they're merely envious, but the world
 comes crashing down when I try to use a straw or wipe my mouth with a
 napkin.  My lips slip off the straws; there are frighteningly obvious
 grease-stains on the napkins.  My chin is constantly covered in throbbing
 pimples, my pores being permanently clogged by excess Carmex.

        To think once a week used to be enough... I should "Huzzah!" now if I
 make it through two hours.

        I don't have a problem, though.  It's all under control.  I could
 stop any minute, if I wanted to, but I like it this way -- I'm warm and
 moist and never chapped.  I haven't had a cold sore in over three years.

        I bow to thee, Menthol, and to thee, Camphor and Alum, and Salicylic
 Acid, Phenol, Fragrance (O mighty Fragrance!), Lanolin, Cocoa Butter, and
 Wax base, in turn.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
   * (c) HoE publications.  HoE #143 -- written by MoonBagel -- 12/9/97 *
