What would a lip scrub do if it were to cleanse away dead skin akin to rhinoceros hide?
It would do nothing, save scrape a few gentlemanly flakes of dried skin, but what about the freakin' proletariats?
It wouldn't do anything, that's when thou brings a wet towel over amply dampened lips and slowly, gently but surely scrubs away the thin layer of white shroud that begins to assemble each morning, no matter the precautions it's victim takes, from the application of oils to balms to all manners of soothing salves and yet, the skin dry, the weather drier makes it all a bit of yang and yang.
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