I am a consumer.

In most (all) cases, I will buy. I will buy two boxes of frozen meatless Buffalo Wings JUST in case this is the week I decide to have them for breakfast, lunch, and dinner and can't be bothered to restock my supplies. I will buy that dress I may or may not wear and feel minimal (no) pangs of guilt. I will buy things that I don't yet have the need for in anticipation of that need should it arise just because I enjoy buying things. One of my favorite hobbies includes creating a "need" for items I don't actually need. I need more accept pillows! I need more ingredients to cook with! I need more tubes of mascara! I never want to think, "perhaps he would have liked me if only I had more voluminous, alluring lashes." (Just kidding.) But seriously though, don't fight me on the accent pillows.

But today, was a rare occasion in which I was feeling frugal. I will not be a mindless consumer. I will understand the value of a dollar and save it. I will make my parents proud! Then my friend and I walked into a store called Lush. And it all went to shit.

Look at all the stuff they have! And it all promises to make me more beautiful!

You know the kind of store where all the sales attendants are super peppy? And really, really want to help you find what you need? Not in an annoying way though, in that get you excited to be there way. This was that type of store. At first it started with a skin conditioner. You put it on in the shower, like hair conditioner, and then you don't need to lotion yourself after because of this miracle product that just saved you 15 minutes of your life!

Then there was the Ocean Salt scrub. It's exotic and complicated sounding ingredients promise to strip your skin of all it's flaws and help you glow with the light of a thousand fireflies. I couldn't believe I had gone 22 years without these products. All of them, better than the last. It's Sunday, which means I'm more Mindy Kaling than Freida Pinto today. She made me take my hair down from it's half-ass bun and smoothed some mysterious (it was legitimately in a black pot) product in my hair and suddenly I looked like this:

But less sexy because I was wearing pants.

Do you see? Do you understand now that this little black pot was magic? It was Black Magic. I had to buy the Black Magic. This lady wasn't done with me though, she could sense there was more "need" she could create for me, so she gave me a complimentary facial. A freaking facial! There were bowls of lukewarm water, fresh washcloths, temple rubbing and a soft voice telling me to relax. So I did. And while she cleansed, toned, moisturized, and massaged my face, I finally understood. This is why some women become gold diggers.

She exfoliated my lips with chocolate sugar. She put rouge on them called It Started With a Kiss. She glossed them like my lips were her canvas. She knows me too well. She's good.

She gave me soap called Lust. She rubbed solid perfume on my wrists scented like Jasmine, my favorite flower. She gave me samples of every product she used on me. She let me break those really fun bath fizz balls in a bowl of water (Sidenote: This particular fizz ball was meant for scorned lovers, you break off pieces of the "body," curse your ex-lover, and say something negative about them while you throw the chunk (an arm...a leg...) into your bathtub. Creepy? Liberating?) . She invited me to their Valentine's Day party (where there were promises of cupcakes!). She did all of this, with a smile on her face, while she read me my total. And that, friends, is the power of a good sell.