I Refuse To Be Pebble Shamed!

By Cassie Cato

Cassie Cato is a lifestyle blogger and kale enthusiast

There’s no easy way of saying this: I love pebbles. Ok, I adore pebbles! Ever since I discovered the Hot Pebble Facial Technique a few months ago, I’ve become an addict! As readers of this blog will attest! The smoothness of the pebbles act as both an exfoliating agent and also an all round remedy. And when the pebbles are thrown rapidly in your face, after being carefully oven baked it gives you what they call a rock rush. This rock rush can last for minutes or even hours depending on whether you need to be rushed to emergency. It’s like having your face savagely fire stripped with the skin and bone peeled off  – but in a good way.

Steamed pebbles first thing in the morning give me boundless energy for the rest of the day. They give me even more zip than 20 Kale infused teas and God knows, I love Kale! But I love pebbles more! It’s got to the point that when I go out now I take my steamed pebbles with me.

Seems a bit weird right? But there’s a whole community of us “Pebblers”. We’ll sit in a nice juice bar and sip on a lemongrass infused, dehydrated water with our collection of pebbles sitting next to us. Sometimes I’ll even have a couple of “brain pebbles” strapped on my head to help relax my thoughts. Or I’ll have an elbow pebble strapped on to help improve my writing. Yet I can’t help but notice the occasional looks. A waitress once gave me a withering stare at my pebbles, like she wanted to zap them with her laser death eyes. Another waiter said: “would your pebbles like to order something?” which I thought was just harsh, as my pebbles would recoil at the poor choices on their sad menu (I mean “rock cakes” – that’s just poor taste, peeps!).

My emergency pebbles, or could also be the normal ones

So, yeah, I definitely feel ostracised whenever I go out. These days I like to have my entire pebble back up kit with me, so I’ve got back up in all situations. You know, pebble moisturiser, brain pebbles, health pebbles, decision pebbles and tongue pebbles (to improve speech and social engagements). They’re my comfort stones. Sometimes I don’t even notice them.

But then… I go on a date or do a high profile photo shoot for Quartz and Shale Monthly and suddenly I’m made to feel guilty and very aware of my pebbles (which are not quartz or shale). Case in point. Last Friday I was having drinks with a sexy guy at Icebergs. He wasn’t the smartest but he had a hot chin and was runner up on The Bachelorette so I thought he was worth a shot. He also owned a property in Glass House Bay. As soon as we sat down I realised straight away the vibes were bad.

The Chin

“What the hell’s this?” the Chin kind of roared, as a waitress brought over a large tray of my pebbles and placed them next to me. “We didn’t order those! If I wanted hot rocks I’d go to a Shannon Noll concert! ”

I tried to explain that these were my own personal pebbles for health reasons. Just then another tray of my pebbles arrived (my medicinal pebbles which I like to keep separate). Then a third waiter brought out another tray – my dating pebbles. Even I had to admit the table was getting a bit crowded.

“What are you – like, a quarry?” asked The Chin.

I thought this was pretty mean. Especially considering that at least a third of the pebbles were igneous based.

“Have you ever had terminal cancer?” I asked him sharply.

“Not yet” admitted The Chin. “But my agent thinks I’ve got a pretty good shot at it. Would really kick my career to the next level.”

“Well neither have I,” I said, “and my agent thinks it will really help me too. But that’s not the point. The point is, these pebbles give you life and energy and ward off the truly bad shit like cancer and Kyle Sandilands.”

“Ah come on” said The Chin “we both know all this pebble stuff is bullshit. You’re just doing it to give yourself some edge and stand out a bit.”

I was about to angrily respond when a waiter hurried over. He was carrying something on a warm blanket.

“Excuse me” he said to the Chin “Sir left this in the bathroom, I believe?”

We both looked down. I stared in a way that I like to think was superior yet not too smug. Wrapped up in the blanket was a small kidney stone.

The Chin looked very guilty: “Ah look that’s a mate’s stone, I’m just minding it.”

The waiter with a casual accidental-but-not-really flick, knocked back the stone. Underneath it was the legend: “Kidney Stone of Bon Scott bought at Sothebys Auction”.

“Alright” said The Chin wildly. “I collect celebrities’ kidney stones, OK! They’re supposed to give you luck! Why are you all looking at me like that?”

And on those words, he flounced out and took his kidney stone with him. Both the waiter and I smiled. I stroked my pebbles.

As the saying goes – people who live in Glass House Bay so shouldn’t cast the first pebble.

Cassie Cato will be a regular columnist for Awe Stralia for many years to come.