As I suffer from the Target Syndrome, that fiscally fatal condition that affects many women aged 18-49 (the target Target aims for so darned accurately), I ended up buying more than I went in for yesterday. I needed face soap, but I left the aisle carrying an extra little box-o-fun: an eight-pack of Biore Pore Perfect Nose Strips (BPPNS). To the uninitiated, they are sort of like facial paper mache; you apply them to your wet noggin, and they dry into a crusty magnet for pore junk. One can examine a freshly-removed BPPNS and behold the yuckies it has harvested. Incidentally, my first introduction to the phenomenon was back in the late nineties, when I was working at the Lilith Fair. Representatives from Biore handed out thousands of strips to concert-goers, many of which applied and removed their BPPNS in the company of friends, showing off their loot while Sarah McLachlan sang about ice cream in the background. (Could anything be more quintessentially Lilith Fair than that?)
Ben was perplexed and perhaps a bit disturbed last night as I paraded around the house with my BPPNS. But then the first thing he told me this morning upon waking me up was that he'd broken into my supply to try it for himself. I think we have a new family pastime.