Ballistics Epiphanies

Because I am a girly-girly, I must possess the hippest toiletries. I
buy effervescent bath "ballistics" from a well-marketed and spun Covent
Garden shop where all of the products are presented as if the whole
joint was a posh gourmet deli. My skin smells like fresh tomatoes, but
these bath bombs cost me the price of two days' lunch and they stain my
bathtub.
On hands and knees, scrubbing with cleanser to exfoliate the red ring,
I realize that a) this cleanser is much more effective and economical
than the patchouli-scented cheese-and-nut baguette that's supposed to
remove callouses and b) I am in desperate need of a manicure.