I have a lot of friends. Not a lot of close friends, and actually I’m in the early stages of building a tribe all those other “connected” women talk about. 

Anyway, the point really is that I know a lot of people. And a lot of those people love oils. You know, like the natural, healing, essential kind.  

I wanted to like the oils, really I did.  I’m not even a full-on skeptic. I truly believe they can do good things.  I mean, you’re talking to a woman who has ground her own wheat to make fresh bread, for goodness sakes.  I’ve brewed water kefir, and eaten wheat germ, and avoided gluten for a while even though I don’t have an allergy.  I’ve regularly put spinach in my smoothies and taken Vitamin D and (irregularly) practiced yoga.

I mean, I’m not actually doing any of those things at present, but I’ve done them in the past.  I’m a good candidate for loving oils.

The problems, though, are several: I’m not a fan of the whole MLM thing that seems to be taking the world by storm; I love a good artificial smell; and I do not love the smell of oils. So really, I guess the effort was futile.

But I tried. 

I bought the kit, the diffuser, and the promise of a better, cleaner, purer, wholier life. I stopped short of any kind of subscription plan, probably because somewhere in the back of my mind I knew we were doomed from the start.

My almost-three-year-old is a sucky sleeper.  Like terrible.

Spare me your lectures and suggestions.  I’m too old and sleep deprived to do anything other that what is actually happening in my house right now. 

So, I ask the oily people what kind of black magic they can provide to make this baby sleep so I can like him better.  I’m given the prescription. He gets his own, masculine, wood-grained, nightlight-included diffuser. I put the recommended concoction into the diffuser, go through the bedtime ritual, and shuffle into my own room, prepared for the majesty of the oils to change my life for the better.

Spoiler alert: he’s still a sucky sleeper.  

Mama tried.  I cannot. I just cannot. 

There are about three of them I can tolerate the smell of, and that’s it.  I even bought some “fall blends” in anticipation of the coming crisp air (you know, sometime around mid-December here in the south). 

I put those babies in the diffuser, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the smell of fall in the climate-controlled air of my home. The mist started to spray, the light glowed, the spicy scent of oil filled the air. And then I turned off the diffuser and lit my oatmeal cookie / gingerbread / warm spice candle, sprayed on a little more perfume, and went on about my artificial day.

Note to self on the developing identity: I’m not an “oily friend” to my oily friends. 

Note to self on not giving a flip what other people think about the developing identity: I’m ok with not being an “oily friend.”  I think we’re making progress.