Ointment is a funny word. This is a good thing, since I am basically slathered in ointment at all times. It’s fun to say and is both slightly medical and silly all at the same time. Sort of like the word “constipation.” Constipation is a fun word mostly because it fits in nicely with the song “Anticipation” and not much about the song needs to be changed.
Seriously. Sing it.
I have an ointment for my heels and one for my scalp. I also have one for my butt (long story) and one for my ankles. Actually, I have two for my butt now that I think of it. (Seriously. Long story.) Is toothpaste considered an ointment? Because if it is, then I have ointment for my teeth. I mean, if we are being specific, it would be unfair to not include that. Oh! And armpits! I have an ointment for that too!
I’ve been told that I may need an ointment for my elbows, but it doesn’t seem urgent. And now I have an ointment for my jaw, and my neck and temples. This is a different one than the one for my scalp.
Most people say that their bodies begin to sag when they turn 35, and that they have a harder time losing weight. I just became disgusting. And in dire need of ointment.
When I pack? To go somewhere? Shitload of ointment. And I have to carefully label that mess since one of them . . . wait for it . . . is an acid. That eats away at the skin. Imagine the repercussions of mistaking that skin-eating ointment for my butt ointment? Oof. On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t imagine that.
What would be spectacular is if there was an ointment that I could rub all over my bank account so that it would grow. That would be really super.
One of these days I’m going to go to the doctor because blood is shooting out of my eyes and the doctor is going to be all “Here. Take this ointment and rub it in your bloody eyes.” And I will simply say “Oh! Thank you!” Because at that point, I will have an ointment for basically everything.
Just dip me in a vat and call it a day.