A Visit To Goop

I have a little time to kill before Carla's Search Heartache book signing at Diesel, so I wander into the Goop Lab, following orders. "You have to go to Goop," Carla says, and she's never led me astray, well, except for the Vegan Debacle. Listen, she's allowed one time in, what, 39 years of friendship. Two steps in, I spot the candle I think is the candle, the scandalous one "with a funny, gorgeous, sexy and beautifully unexpected scent."

Alas, it isn't that candle, it's the Uma Pure Calm candle. Always in the market for calm, I pick it up, letting the notes of "uplifting rose and soothing sandalwood" and the promise of "balance, well-being and positivity" waft over my personage. Sigh. The promise remains unfulfilled. In this moment, I know what I have to do, immediately if not sooner. Text my brother. I have a strong sense he's already at the Brentwood Mart, for it is our inheritance to arrive early and eat a snack beforehand. You never know when the next meal is coming. Although on this particular night, we do know. We're meeting our cousin Andy at Farm Shop, for an overpriced meal.


Our brother-sister text exchange goes something like this:
"Oh my god, are you here yet?"
"Of course, I'm here. Duh."
"Meet me at Goop."
"Goop?"
"Gwyneth's store."
"Where is it?"
"I'll go outside and wave."
"I'll be there before you can say Shakespeare in Love."

"Shakespeare in... oh hi, honey." Big hugs, and we enter the New Age Shrine to Gwynnie and all things lifestyle-beauty-female empowerment-god-knows-what-else, much as we once prowled Party-Smarty in Westwood, looking for fake vomit, the latest Mad Libs, and other nonsense. In advance, I know nothing at Goop's cheap, but when has that ever stopped me before? I want that candle, so I can say, "Hey, bitches, that's right, I got that candle," which doesn't reflect well on me, but screw it, and in this scenario, John is my enabler. On a weekly, if not daily basis, via text and email, we encourage each other to Spend! Spend! Spend! A lovely salesgal greets us. I lean in, conspiratorially:
SJG: "Where is it?"
Salesgal: "Where's what?"
SJG: "You know..."
John: "She's looking for the Va-Jay-Jay candle."
Salesgal: "You mean This Smells Like My Vagina."
SJG: "Yeah, that one."
Salesgal: "So sorry. It's completely sold out."
SJG: "How sad."
Salesgal: "Everybody wants one."
John: "Can you blame them?"
SJG: "I was ready to shell out $75."
Salesgal: "Guess who bought 10?"
John: "Liza?"
Salesgal: "Elton John."
SJG: "That's... wow... Elton John?"
Salesgal: "We're back ordered for three months. Can I put your name on a waiting list?"
John: "Go for it, Toots."
SJG: "I prefer to suffer in silence. But thank you, anyway."