Is there a chip for this?

Last night Poor Kyle and I went to see a movie (The Tourist, thumbs up, no uncomfortable sex scenes and only one effer plus I’ve never seen a Johnny Depp movie I didn’t like).

We try to make a habit of getting to the theatre early because our movie theatre (that’s right, we only have the one choice) has a reputation for being run by a team of idiots and it takes thirty minutes to buy tickets plus another thirty for concessions (if you dare).

Just as we were walking into the theatre foyer, I reached into my pocket to grab my chapstick for a  pre-movie application. This particular chapstick (Burt’s Bees Pomegranate, best stuff ever to grace my lip skin) had been with me—in my pocket or my backpack—throughout the day. I had already used it at least twenty times. It was a fresh stick (courtesy of my friend Chelsie who sent me a two-pack for my birthday). It was perfect.

Anyway, I reached in my pocket to pull out the chapstick, unlidded the tube and lifted it to my lips to apply liberally as directed (I am a rule follower).

Much to my surprise, my lips were not met with the beautiful smooth substance I’ve come to know and love, but instead with the hard, sharp edges of the tube. Annoyed with myself for screwing the chapstick down one twist too far after my last application (common rookie chapstickking mistake), I looked down to twist it back up and get on with my life…

…only there wasn’t any chapstick in the tube.

It was gone.

Just gone.

I looked in the lid, wondering if somehow it had smooshed up during my walk from the truck. No chapstick. I looked on my shirt, thinking perhaps the whole chunk of it had fallen out on its way to my face. No chapstick.

Curses, I thought. That was a fresh tube.

Annoyed though I was at the tube’s absent innards, I didn’t actually get frantic until I realised I HAD NO BACKUP STICK WITH ME. Not even the thick gritty stuff with glitter in it that I bought during an ill-advised teenage trip to Disneyland. None.

Immediately, my Arizona-bred cactus lips went into shutdown mode, soaking in whatever was left of the previous application in the face of imminent drought.

My hands were sweating. I knew I couldn’t sit through an entire movie—two hours!—without chapstick, especially when my lips knew I had none on reserve. They get super anxious when I have no reserve.

Kyle, I said, we have to go home.

[p.s. Home is thirty minutes away.]

Why?

Because my chapstick is gone and there’s no point staying for the movie without it—I’ll never be able to enjoy it.

That’s ridiculous. Come on, we’re going in.

NO! Absolutely not. It will be a waste of money.

Well, we’re at the mall; is there anywhere you could buy some more? He said it with a smirk; he’d meant it as a joke. He thinks he’s better than me because he’s trained his lips “not to need” chapstick. (He doesn’t know that kissing him is like kissing pencil shavings.)

Umm…there’s a Body Shop down the corridor.

He looked at me with what I can only describe as sheer disgust, rolled his eyes, and started walking that way.

So we found the Body Shop and talked to a useless salesperson who knew nothing about the finer points of chapstickking (fools all of them), and I picked out the one that closest resembled the texture of my now-lost chapstick.

I rushed to the till to pay and had an aneurysm when my total rang up at $8.00. That’s more than the price of TWO Burt’s Bees Pomegranates!

The saleslady told me I could get another one at half price, which the Saturday Stealer in me considered for a second until realising it would make my total $12.00, or six dollars per tube, and it wasn’t even my favourite stuff. It wasn’t even infused with gold or unicorn blood.

No thanks, I said, I’ll just part with the one arm and leg today.

Maybe next time, then, she said.

Yeah whatever loser. Give me my life support. No, I don’t need a bag. Do I look like the kind of person who is purchasing this ridiculous chapstick at leisure? It’s going straight into my pocket (which had been feeling a little drafty without its customary tube).

Anyway, the chapstick was fine—it applied smoothly which is the main thing I look for in a chapstick that’s not Burt’s Bees Pomegranate. Also it tasted like chocolate which would normally be a turn-off for me (why taste it without the goodness of eating it—that’s just cruel) but last night it was a plus because I couldn’t rationalise buying dinner for myself on top of the emergency chapstick so I actually did swallow some of it for my mid-flick snack.

It was only after the movie ended that it occurred to me I might have some sort of problem.

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
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6 Responses to Is there a chip for this?

  1. i’m the same way.

    also, really you’d give that movie a thumbs up? when we were looking up movies last week that one got like 20% or less so i figured it was terrible and decided against it. i do love johnny depp though..

  2. anna says:

    I was gonna say… you might have a problem. :)

    I love my chapstick. I use Chapstick brand peppermint flavor. BUT I pay $1 for it. I’d rather lick my lips for 2 hours than pay $8 for a tub.

  3. irene says:

    I’m like you. I DIE if I don’t have of those close to me in fall and winter. BFF, yeah.

  4. Alaina says:

    I’m with you there…I hate hate hate chapped lips, and not having the chapstick readily available merely makes the fact your lips are dry more obvious. It’s torture.

  5. Witty, witty, witty.

    This post made me smile.

  6. Pingback: Archives of Our Lives

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