No one ever believes me when I tell them this. Let me give you a recent example of the infantile Lola. I’m on the phone with a dear friend of mine, Lola is napping happily on the floor. After about 15 minutes I realize the snoring has stopped. I look around, there is no Lola in sight.
The hunt begins.
I track Lola down in the master bedroom and I find a chewed up cotton ball lying on the ground in front of her. Lola is staring at me with her “I’m innocent” face.
I frantically try to recall how many cotton balls I used to complete my nightly routine of taking off my makeup, exfoliating and applying moisturizer. I start to sniff cotton balls to determine which ones were used for what, so I know what Lola may have ingested. I had to sniff cotton balls from a garbage pail.
I’ll never be the same again.
I finally narrow down that Lola chewed up and spit out one cotton ball and it only contained a harmless, unscented essential oil. Nothing particularly toxic in that. I begin to breathe easier.
Then I realize the Q-tips are missing from the top of the pile.
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