The way that face wash smelled reminded me of the summer between eighth and ninth grade. That was probably the most infamous summer of my tween life. This was the summer that I "went to modeling camp."
Fact: There is no such thing as modeling camp - at least not the weekend camp in Helena, Montana that I told everyone I went to. When creative girls like real cute boys, they make up stories to impress them. In order to maintain congruency, they also tell all their friends the same stories...and convince their mom to go along with it (to some degree).
Nabbed the cute boy. He was obviously just cute and not very bright or way too trusting. I'm sure my story had plenty of holes like..."they didn't let me bring back any of the pictures they took of me because they were copyrighted." Or, "they said my eyes were too far apart and my face was too long to have a career."
My glory was cut short when I went to church camp that same summer. Jesus has a way of pulling the truth out of you. Whilst sitting on the floor of our room, recapping that night's service - my heart started to pound. When it was my turn to share with the girls all I could say was, "I didn't go to modeling camp." I cried. The girls (the same ones that might have been a little jealous of my modelling adventure) laughed.
Correction: Modeling camp does exist. Just googled it.