Move over Bonnie Bell

                                                                                                      (word count: 986)

When I was 11 years old a new product stormed the pre-teen market.  Bonnie Bell’s lip gloss called Lip Smackers.  Beautiful soft shine in a variety of flavors: bubblegum, root beer, watermelon, grape ape, orange crush and (yuk) banana split.  Girls went wild for this stuff, snapping up new flavors as soon as they were available (how brilliant to develop flavored balm that would be greedily licked and consumed).  Even in my “no-makeup” parochial school this gloss was allowed, or went undetected.  My house, of course, operated with its own set of rules, and to my repeated pleas for a tube of Bonnie Bell, I received a firm “No”.  So I sat at lunchtime and listened to others review each flavor.  During class time I sat watching the sea of girls who were licking back and forth on their lips as they listened to the teacher.  I felt conspicuously one of the Bonnie Bell-less. 

I thought I’d come up with a solid acquisition plan when I put Bonnie Bell on my Christmas List.  The only evaluative decision Santa Clause makes is ‘naughty or nice’, right?  But before it made its way through to St. Nick or passed along to relatives it was crossed off, “You are too young”.  My mother had the line item veto more than a decade before the President.

Fast forward to summer; I had turned 12 and was much more sophisticated.  I’d discovered that Vasoline, while not providing the same tasty pleasure, shined almost as nicely as Bonnie Bell.  Re-applying was difficult since the economy family-size jar we had at home could not fit in a purse. Still my discovery meant that I could go out anywhere looking good for at least the first 30 minutes.

Each summer, I flew to my Grandparents' home in Buffalo.  Alone – just me - no parents, no brothers, no pets.  In fairness to my parents, they did not single me out for favoritism; my grandma funded the trip to see ‘her only grand daughter’.  In fairness to my brothers, I could understand their jealous comments about the ‘princess’.  And in fairness to me, I had nice manners and knew how to not act like a heathen.

While in Buffalo, I stayed busy doing all sorts of fun things.  One of my favorite activities was to travel downtown with Grandma and meet my Aunt Mary Anne for lunch.  Mary Anne worked for Westinghouse, in beautiful art deco building that looked like it was lifted from NYC.  We’d eat lunch at restaurants that had tablecloths and candles. So it was a ‘dress-up’ occasion and it called for some lip gloss.  As I got dressed, I looked through closets and medicine cabinets searching for Vasoline. 

“Hurry up, Matilda if we miss the 9:15 bus we will be stuck waiting another half-hour” my grandma’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs. “I’m brushing my teeth,” I quickly turned on the water. “I’ll be ready in just a second” I said stalling.   

I took one last look around since I did not want to go downtown with naked lips. Grandma had a new toothpaste called Aim.  It was a gel not a paste – cool – and tasted way better than Crest.  ‘She’s always trying new things’ I thought and then inspiration hit me.  I squirted the gel on my fingers and smoothed it on my lips.  The shine was fantastic!  I put some more on and bounded off with my grandma.

Grandma had a thing for punctuality, so she fretted at the bus stop double-checking the schedule and looking down the street.  I’m a people-watcher, so I spent the time looking at the other riders and smiling at those who caught my stare.

When we finally sat down on the bus she took a good look at me, adjusted my crocheted poncho, then frowned and said “What’s that on your lips?”

“Nothing.” 

“What do you mean nothing?  There is something all over you mouth.”

“I don’t know…”  I stammered off the beginning of a denial but her scrutiny was too intense.  She had pulled some tissue from her purse and reached over to wipe my face.

“You have white powder all over your lips, here let me get that off,” and she grabbed hold of my face.

‘White powder?’ I thought,  ‘Oh no, the Gel!  It must have changed colors when the toothpaste oxygenated.  That explains why my mouth felt like it was shriveling up.’

“What is this stuff?” my grandma said wiping at it without success.

“I’ll get it off grandma” I said and began furiously licking my lips and blushing intensely. 'How embarrassing, and I had been smiling to everyone I’d meet this morning'.  I slouched down some on the bench trying to hide.

“Wait don’t swallow it…”

“It’s okay, it’s…” I started to laugh and cry at the same time, “toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste?” she exclaimed a little too loudly for my comfort.

As I explained the whole Bonnie Bell situation, my Grandma laughed and put her arm around me.  She gave me a hug and a kiss, and I knew my pubescent soul had an ally.  So during the ride, I poured out all my troubles of living in a house of boys and being misunderstood.

The next day when grandma came home from work – at AM&A’s Department store – she handed me a sack and inside was four flavored Lip Smackers.  It took another week of cajoling to get what my twelve-year-old heart desired more than all the Bonnie Bell on the planet.  When I flew back home, I was sporting two small sparkling posts in my ears.

I think apoplexy could describe my mother’s reaction when she saw me at the airport.  My dad’s reaction no less dramatic. In the bru-ha-ha after the unauthorized ear piercing, no one asked about my newly acquired collection of Bonnie Bell.


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Note: this story is part of a collection of funny and/or embarrassing short stories from childhood.  For more laughs, please see:

"Waltzing Matilda"  E: funny and/or embarrassing short stories from childhood