
.
The first time I tried Yardley of London oatmeal and almond, I was in an I’ll-try-anything-once mood: a Hollister shirt hugging my figure with a mane of sunshine blonde hair and tight denim cuffed above my ankles. The packaging of the soap bar was tempting. The soap was like a loveletter sprayed w/ perfume. It had attracted the attention of so many resulting in Yardley’s legendary reputation.
Yardley started in 1770 as a limited British cosmetic line before its successful products became global. My skin was dry and sensitive, so I when a product worked, I used it for life. Burt’s Bees was always a god send for me too. The soap carried a luxurious scent and my body wore a coat of suds. Its rich lather was impressive for its price. My skin rivaled silk after every use. Yardley was my new beauty addiction.
A year of use had passed and the soap never lost its charm. I used it in my daily routine until I noticed a difference. A bad difference. My arms. My arms were suffering. The forearm was covered in little whiteheads. I panicked. I was a pickle. It resembled a Nestle crunch bar. No itching or burning just ugliness. I didn't accuse Yardley. My new beauty gem couldn't be letting me down. I googled the condition. No luck on a cure. I tried a Neutrogena astringent. Nothing. I tried a moisturizer. I even prayed. My pickle arms remained. I couldn't live with lumpy skin. And finally my mom suggested life without Yardley. It was a struggle….but I was desperate. I kicked the habit with a solution. Dove.
People come and go
Even when you want them to stay
Because when they go
You miss them
But sometimes its better if they go
And you stay
Because people go their separate ways
Even when you want to leave on good terms
Sometimes it’s the bad terms that make them go
And hard to make them stay
When they want you to go
Because you want them to stay and go.
But one can only go or stay
So I will go
So you can stay the same great person you’ve always been.