Cover Me In Clay Like One of Those Real Housewives

On Instagram, Lu captioned a photo of her beach getaway, “claycation.”

Now, I won’t ponder the implications of gold clay paint mixing with extremely fine sand somewhere in… say… a buttcrack. I’m sure there’s lotion for it. No, I’m more concerned with Luann’s hair. Assuming it’s clay, based on her caption, I worry she might experience breakage or a dehydrated scalp. God forbid the subsequent shampoos and conditioners send her hair into protein overload—the horror! Not even extensions will help her come back from that.

But specifics aside, this really does seem the perfect solution for a variety of my personal ailments. I don’t think I need medication or psychiatric treatment or weed or even daily sex. No, what my brain and body actually crave is the feeling of clay slowly tearing the pores of my skin apart as it hardens and cracks in the harsh, equatorial sunlight, the whole of my person cooking on a beach until I resemble a serving of fried tilapia.

Do ya’ think my healthcare will cover that?