They let me out of my cage for a few hours this weekend, so I decided to go shopping. We headed down toward Philly and hit a large mall that I enjoy going to. Inside the mall is a large chain cosmetics store (I don’t feel like getting sued, so I won’t use their name). I had just fed my husband, so I knew I had a good half an hour before he started complaining (thank God for L-tryptophan).
I walked into the crowded store and began perusing the new lines. I enjoy looking at new packaging and new product concepts. I tell my husband that it’s “research” and he usually responds, “yeah, just shop and quit trying to make excuses.” Within about 30 seconds, a young store clerk comes up to me and asks if I need help. I’d love to say that I’m the owner of a cosmetics line and I’m checking out the competition, but instead I say “oh, I was looking for eye liner.” She proceeds to drag me over to a brand whose name matches the crappy ingredients they use. Then she pulls out an electric purple shade and says “let’s try this on you.” Before I can utter “no” the pencil is practically in my eyeball. I freeze. I feel the grinding back and forth of the crayon along the inner corner of my left eye. “See…that looks hot with your green eyes.” I grab for the mirror to find the neon shade carved into my skin. I almost swore I could hear Cyndi Lauper “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” playing in the background. I tried to explain to the clerk that this bright 80s shade would probably look lovely on her, but at my age and with my skintone, I didn’t think it was a good fit. Besides, my eyes are rather close set, so the darker shades should be on the outside of my eye – not the inner corner. “Oh, well you seem to know a little about make-up,” she responds. Then looks at my husband who seems to be getting dizzy from all the artificial scents being sprayed in the air. “What do you think?” Now, that’s just about one of the scariest things you can say to a guy. No matter what they say, they’ll be wrong. Hedging his bet, he simply nods his head – we have no idea what he means. I again express my appreciation for her opinion, but don’t think it’s going to work for me. “Fine” she says, dismissively, and walks away.
Hey, I’m not cheap. I would buy it if I liked it and if the ingredients didn’t scare the hell out of me. I grab the pencil and hunt her down. Half way back in the store I spot her and make a bee-line for her. “Just so you know…I’m going to buy this pencil anyway.” Why did I feel like I had something to prove to this stranger? It reminded me of that episode of Seinfeld with the crested blazer. “Oh..” she muttered, obviously un-phased. Just when I thought the combat was over, she spins around with a palette of eye shadows in her hand. “These would look hot on you.” ‘Has she been hanging out with Paris Hilton?’ I think to myself as I feel the brush hit my eyeball. Within minutes, one eye looks like I had been hit by a baseball bat. “That looks so hot,” the clerk says as I scan the room looking for my husband who has mysteriously disappeared by this point. “um….yeah…could you even me out….I don’t want to walk around the mall with one eye…um….’done’”. She proceeds to trowel product on the other eye as I stay very still, thinking any movement could only make it worse. My skin was starting to burn – what was in this stuff? Then came the mascara. By the time she was done, I made Tammy Faye look good. And I had to walk to my car. Thankfully the young girl got distracted and I made my escape. My husband made no comments – smart man that he is. He kept his arm tight around my waist and I swear he was flashing his wedding ring – did he think I looked like a hooker??! I was happy to return home and wash the garbage off my aching skin. As I sat on the floor playing with the dog, my husband brought over the items we purchased on our trip. Out from a bag fell the purple eye liner. I looked up at him in horror. “But I thought you wanted it….? he said” Poor guy.