St. Ives Apricot Scrub Renew and Firm (the anti-aging kind)

Dear Mrs. Apricot:

Everyone's going to have something to say about us. They're going to call it some May-December romance, act suspicious, wonder if I even have the right to consent to this. Even though it's my young, tender fingers yearning for you, with your immature perfume, your orange flecked attire and the unmaskably stale packaging you cling to, shabby-pharmaceutical-chic and not in the least eco-friendly. Sometimes I can even find you in a fat plastic tub, masquerading as cold-cream.

You're too old for me. I should have just stayed with your cousin, the "Invigorating" one which really wants to be wearing leather shorts, or her sister "Gentle," the little bottom that can still whip your face clean. I know that. And it was only supposed to be a dalliance. You were just there and I was in need of some facial scrubbin-n'-rubbin', if you know what I mean. It's the wrinkles that do it for me, your wrinkles. I needed to smear you all over the apples of my cheeks.

And it turns out, for all your packaging, your obsessive need to look younger (which is just honestly not working, you're not fooling anyone, or we wouldn't be having these problems), your very reputation among the others in the Apricot Scrub family tree, you know how to work over my face until I'm tingling and my face is like a new face, shining and ready to face the day after our little pick-me-up. I don't have any wrinkles but you still make me feel like a whole new woman with every caress of your chalky old-lady embrace.

So whatever they say, know that you are important to me. My days without you feel scaly, like they've never started at all. I need you in my life, no matter what they say, Mrs. Apricot. I love you. Always be with me, won't you?

Your young, sexy catch, forever yours,
Noren