The Dead Sea

I just got back from the outlet Mill’s Mall. Once again, I dodged the countless booths of middle-eastern peddlers hassling me to try their amazing Dead Sea Salt scrub, their red jewelry cleaner, and soothing aroma wraps. I avoid these people at all costs.

They get me every time.

I am not one to be guilted into buying a product. Just because they clean my wedding ring or make my fingernail shiny-smooth doesn’t make me feel obligated. No, it is more like I am hypnotized into buying what they are selling.

You see, I loooooove their middle-eastern accents. Especially the women’s accents. They speak so softly and gently. They pronounce their words so poetically. It gives me the chills. It makes me feel dizzy. It makes me want to buy what they are selling.

This, teamed with them gently massaging Dead Sea Lotion into my palm is a recipe for a disaster… we’re talking “I’ll buy everything on your cart even if I have to sell my first-born to get the money” disaster.

One time, I left the mall with a new set of nail-polishing products for my sister. When I got home, I looked at my shopping bag and thought “Why did I buy this? She won’t want this.” So I tried to take it back. No sir. A no return policy. I tried to reason with the salesperson, but what could I say? “Excuse me, but you enchanted me into buying this stuff!”

Ryan thinks that I’m crazy. He said that those beautiful musical accents have no influence on him whatsoever. But one of my Christmas presents from him last year was a Dead Sea Salt Scrub—so I call his bluff. They got to him, too.

So today, November 5th, I am thankful for making it out of Mill’s Mall without any grooming products that I don’t need. I had to plug my ears and sing a Barry Manilow song at the top of my lungs every time I saw a peddler eying me… but I did it. I made it through the gauntlet.