I've been seeing ads on the train for this Bub Shower cooling lotion. They say something like "leave behind your body that sweats" and have a cartoon that suggests a (watery) soul leaving the body.
My friend Kim tried it and said it left her shivering after a shower. Shivering beats wilting, melting and sweating, which is what we've all been doing lately. I found a lone bottle of the stuff in a drug store, stashed on a shelf next to the fizzy cooling bath tablets made by the same company. (On the way out, I saw there was a whole basket with all three strengths outside the front door.)
When you shake the bottle, per instruction, a heavy ball inside clacks like in a paint marker or quick-dry correction fluid. Residue on the outside of the bottle dries the same way, too.
You put it on in the shower, after washing, and then rinse it off. (You have to wonder what's staying on you.) It spreads on, white and slightly watery, with no noticeable effect. And then, sometime during the rinsing, the cooling starts. These days, stepping out of the shower feels a like stepping into a mild sauna. If you're not slathered in Bub.
If you are, it feels like every skin cell has made its own independent deal with the devil. How can you feel so chilly when even the porcelain of the sink is warm to the touch? Wrapped in a towel, still shivering, you start to think you may be about to pay the price, with an ironic, icy demise, for thinking you can outsmart the weather. And then slowly, the coolness fades and you are left feeling just pleasantly unsweaty, which is the real claim the stuff makes.
Cold patches stayed between my fingers for more than an hour, though--a reminder of what happens when we meddle.
My friend Kim tried it and said it left her shivering after a shower. Shivering beats wilting, melting and sweating, which is what we've all been doing lately. I found a lone bottle of the stuff in a drug store, stashed on a shelf next to the fizzy cooling bath tablets made by the same company. (On the way out, I saw there was a whole basket with all three strengths outside the front door.)
When you shake the bottle, per instruction, a heavy ball inside clacks like in a paint marker or quick-dry correction fluid. Residue on the outside of the bottle dries the same way, too.
You put it on in the shower, after washing, and then rinse it off. (You have to wonder what's staying on you.) It spreads on, white and slightly watery, with no noticeable effect. And then, sometime during the rinsing, the cooling starts. These days, stepping out of the shower feels a like stepping into a mild sauna. If you're not slathered in Bub.
If you are, it feels like every skin cell has made its own independent deal with the devil. How can you feel so chilly when even the porcelain of the sink is warm to the touch? Wrapped in a towel, still shivering, you start to think you may be about to pay the price, with an ironic, icy demise, for thinking you can outsmart the weather. And then slowly, the coolness fades and you are left feeling just pleasantly unsweaty, which is the real claim the stuff makes.
Cold patches stayed between my fingers for more than an hour, though--a reminder of what happens when we meddle.
4 comments:
Welcome to cancer-ville. That stuff can't be healthy.
I know, I know. It makes me think I know how smokers feel when they say, I don't care if I die sooner because I will have enjoyed the years I have so much more due to my smoking. *hack, hack*
Okay, that is a total exaggeration. But I used it again last night and it is pretty good. In fact, I'm wondering if I have time for one more shower before work. Hmm, maybe I do have a problem. バブ中？！
Crikey. That sounds a bit scary. Then again it can't be worse than all the transfat sugar laden crap I shovel into my mouth every day...
Probably has an alcohol base.
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