I never find the time to buy make-up on my own. Why? Well I figure it’s a waste of time, considering I have a Caboodle the size of a baby hippo, which I’ve managed to fill up. Nevermind the majority of the products it contains are older than my little cousin (who is now considering which college to attend).
One must also consider the fact that buying make up is frightening.
A couple days ago, I found myself in a mall with some extra Christmas cash and was lured into the neon lit MAC store like some demented moth. For a store the size of a glorified kiosk, I was completely disoriented. There was make up displayed- but only testers. So I casually picked up some shimmer, decided to buy it, then just sorta stood there. There was a line, but each person clutched a tiny black box containing the ridiculously expensive make up inside it. This tester was not in a chi-chi black box. I wanted a black box, because I wanted to get out as fast as I could. Yet, I could not see any black boxes containing this shimmer. Instead of flipping out and knocking over a pyramid of lipsticks, I stood there and silently started to freak.
I didn’t want to approach the sales person, well… because her face looked like it could have been applied with a putty knife- also she was busy chatting up some giantess in silver legging pants and Uggs.
Side Note: Ladies of the world do yourself a favor- stop wearing leggings as pants. You either look like a Big Ass or a No Ass. I’m sorry, but there is no in between no matter how tight your cheeks are. Plus there is nothing sexy about that much jiggle in public.
So I decided to do the best thing and stand in line…behind a middle aged woman on a scooter. Yes, a scooter. No, not an old person mover scooter, but a silver Razor- push it with one foot- type of scooter…
in the mall…
on a Wednesday…
at 2pm…
At the moment I really didn’t care and decided to ignore this minor detail, until now. Now, I find it really weird. While the woman on the scooter was being helped, the floor attendant finally noticed the panic in my eyes, declutched the shimmer tester from my hand to retrieve one in a chi-chi black box. Scooter lady suddenly left, and I was stuck at the front of the line with nothing to buy. I nervously laughed as the cashier stared blankly at me with her enormous taranchula eyeballs. I told Giantess Spandy Pants to go ahead of me, which she did, without a thanks, but a huge neck spraining hair toss. To make me feel better, I promptly assessed her as a No Ass.
When the attendant came back she started to chat about how this shade (Melon) was apart of a holiday set which came with brushes and some razzle dazzle case, then abruptly ended her story with a “but that’s done now…” and sucked her teeth at me in a “aw shucks” sort of way. Not sure of the story’s point, I said, “okay” and tried to take the black box. She quickly walked away (with the black box), asked for my name and placed it behind the counter.
1. If this was a courtesy- then it was pointless because I was next in line.
2. If this was a precaution- I could have easily walked out the door with the tester when I was being expertly ignored.
Either way, she should have just given me the damn box of shimmer.
As I was leaving, I captured a glance at myself in the hyper lit mirror- after staring at so many manicured faces, mine looked incredibly stark, despite the time I spent applying and re-applying eye liner. I prided myself on not being a clowny freak like the ladies of the MAC Store, and bounced out the door plain face and all.
I spent the rest of my day thinking that my make up was light and breezy. So much so, I considered not even washing my face before bed time. When I finally tucked into my nest, I felt itchy, gross, and all thing sticky. Sighing a heavy sigh, I concluded to not be a fucking lazy ass and to go wash up. I walked into the bathroom and calmly peered into my mirror, I did not see the light touches of make up I though graced my face.
No.
What I saw was a gold embossed eye, with thick black lines circling the rims. Long dagger like lashes, stuck out like a Venus Fly Trap, all culminating into a lavish point to give the illusion of a cat eye. I could almost hear the faint french moan-singing that would accompany some sad Cirque Du Soleil contortionist. Then it hit me- they make the lighting EXTREMELY bright in MAC to drain all forms of natural color out of your face when glancing into the thousands of mirrors in the shop. Causing a normal person to think “oh! I need some blush” or “good god woman you could use some lip gloss”. Instead it just made my judgemental self, feel superior to a world I already am apart of. I wear make up - and sometimes, I go overboard.
Two things were learned from my little foray into the world of MAC:
Thou Shalt Not Be So Quick to Judge Others
&
Honor Thy Drug Store, When Make Up Commands Thee