the painted lady
for reasons i won't go in to here, yesterday was a pretty bad day, with me basically bawling my eyes out pretty early in the morning. wicked awesome. the result of this outpouring of emotion was a very red-faced, red-eyed, puffy version of myself that was not appropriate for public consumption. since i was meeting a friend for a drink, i decided to duck in to sephora for a quick touch-up. when the salesgirl approached me, steeped in can-i-help-you-ness, i decided to be honest with her: "look, i had a really awful day, and just need some concealer to get rid of these dark circles, and maybe a touch of eyeliner to bring me back to the land of the living..." she was immediately empathetic, and plopped me down in her makeup chair, saying how she understood and how it was a slow day anyway, and though she wasn't terribly familiar with the product i wanted, she'd be happy to fix me...
20 minutes later i ran out of the store, with her enthusiastic "there! no one would ever know you had a bad day!" echoing in my ears. i pulled my sunglasses on and headed to the car with my head down low, hoping i didn't run in to anyone i knew before i had a chance to glance in a mirror and do some damage control. as i pulled down the mirror visor safely inside my dark car, i saw what i feared: about 3 pounds of cosmetics piled on my face, where my fingers left marks if i pressed down and my cheeks blazing the color of a dirty penny. the eyeliner was crooked and thick, the brow bone highlighter streaked a distinct white line, underlining my darkened groucho marx brows. it took a bottle of water and 3 rough starbucks napkins to get me back near the colors god gave me. and i walked in to the bar to meet my friend, puffy and red-faced.
current mood: bronzed