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Oils Can Save Us from the Zombie Apocalypse

Remember the internet before people discovered essential oils?  Me neither.  I like to pretend that I’m immune to all these excited friends talking about how oils cured their abscessed bellybutton warts – with pictures – but I can only take so much before my natural cynicism crumbles for the promise of a flu-less existence.  Oils can save us from paper cuts, bad trips to the hair stylist, excessive armpit hair, and the entire spectrum of herpes.  Sign me up.

I wouldn’t have tried oils (sorry every person on Facebook) except my friend Carolyn is really good at talking me into things.  She doesn’t even try.  She’s just really skeptical and very logically explains how skeptical she is while assuring me she’s not selling anything.  It’s a superpower.  This is the same woman who singlehandedly almost got me to try homeschooling.  She’s that good.

It all started a few months ago when she made some coconut almond butter balls with orange oil in them.  My mouth had never been so happy.  I wanted the balls, but not the complicated oils that went with them, so at first I just tried to get the balls oil-free.

(You know how much I love double entendre and am sometimes mildly inappropriate but you forgive me anyway?)


She made me the balls, which I savored for about a month, but then I got greedier.  I needed more balls and I needed oils to save us from back hair, Cookie Monster breath, fungal toe, and hemorrhoids.

And so she set me up with the full-blown ultra party package, complete with diffuser.  Until this point I didn’t know what a diffuser was, and lemme tell you, I have been missing out.  This little guy squirts smelly mist into the air and makes my room smell like a spa.

One thing I’ve realized with my foray into this oily world is that oils are for grownups, and we don’t have any of those around here.  We cannot be cool about these little elixirs.

When our uber ultra ginormo party package arrived in the mail, I started pulling out the little bottles and realized my worst fears.  There was no answer key to explain what to do with them.  Carolyn was about to become my own personal WebMD and with every text from me, she would learn to regret ever sharing her oily balls.

I opened up one bottle with a label I’d never heard of.  The oil people are just making up words in their oil laboratories.  “Melaleuca.”  I didn’t even know what that was but it sounded like a mucousy disease and I threatened to rub it all over Alex while he was sleeping.

Alex smelled the frankincense oil and said, “Meh.  Do you think Jesus smelled it and said to the wise men, ‘Really?  This is all you brought?'”

One day I had bad cramps and the special anti-cramp oil wasn’t helping.  Alex suggested putting it in the diffuser and straddling it naked so the oil would go directly up my uterus.  I will keep you posted about this method.  The Diffuser Bidet, patent pending.

When I started diffusing a clovy smelling oil, Alex asked if he could drink it.  He’s sold.  He doesn’t care what they’re supposed to do.  He just likes the smell.  Except sometimes not so much.

A few weeks ago when I had a stomach virus, I slathered something that smelled like licorice bark on my belly and ran to the bathroom.

Me: Alllexx. I smell like a combination of essential oils and diarrhea.  It’s…confusing.

Alex: Oookayy.  Let’s keep that door shut.

My oil dealer is regretting ever talking me into this, because now she’s getting texts from me like “Is there an oil for fire anus? Which oil for fire anus!?!”

I am not smart enough for oils.  I do things like this:


Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman, that’s me.

I am happy to report that Evie woke up the next morning and her tongue was all better.  So maybe Baby Jesus did appreciate that frankincense oil after all.  Since he couldn’t update his status on Facebook, the world will never know.


Nobody freak out.  I promise we’re not oil-abusers over here.  We know about carrier oils.  We have Carolyn.