Powder Fresh

So earlier I was in the restroom at work and realized too late that the stall I chose was out of toilet paper. I reached behind me for one of the many rolls adorning the back of the toilet, and in so doing I ended up knocking over A CONTAINER OF BABY POWDER. Now, don't ask me what it was doing there--because truth be told, I'd rather not think about it--but what DOES matter is that it was open, and virtually exploded on the way down, like so many mushroom clouds in a Vonnegutian novel. The least of my worries is what I shall call The White Lung, and the greatest of my worries is that I ended up covered in the fine dust, looking like a powdered donut with essence de sandalwood. I did as much damage control as I could, brushing myself off frantically through my coughing fits (see aforementioned 'White Lung'), but even now, as I execute a simple movement--a reach for a pen, a crossing of the legs--a delicate, wafting whiteness will drift through the air, and my coworker will say, "Do I smell...lavender?"