This will be short and to the point. Did you just applaud? I know, I can be a bit wordy. What can I say? I like to write and I’m pretty descriptive. Oh, and trying to make sure I don’t offend anyone at all on the planet who may find themselves reading my stuff takes a little longer than the times I generally don’t give a sugar (the word my Nan uses for sh*t). Who am I? Why am I censoring myself? That’s for another post. Let’s get down to business.
I have skin that drives me nuts. It’s sensitive and red and I want to look like I glow to distract from my lack of hydration when I’m too full of chocolate covered popcorn to even fit an ounce of water in my gullet. For a while I resigned myself to a future of looking like dried out pale leather. I woke up one day though and said “No More!” I padded to the bathroom in my mismatched pajamas and slipper socks because I’m cool like that and decided to try the Babushka’s Cleansing Oil I had gotten at Whole Foods four months earlier. I do that sugar all the time, buy something I swear I need only to let it sit and collect dust. Anyway, the oil was a hit and I looked aglow. It was actually amazing how much better my skin seemed and how fabulous my make-up looked after moisturizing. Huh. All of those Glamour magazines were right. If only I had listened twenty-six years ago.
Babushka’s noted on the bottle that once a week – it could be a month but I’m not getting up to go look because I’m tired and I think there’s a bird in the attic and I have to pass the attic door to get to the bathroom and even though it can’t turn the handle I’m afraid it can see me like a victim can see the perp in a Law And Order line up. That sentence I just wrote is why my posts are too long. Anyway, Babushka’s said you need to exfoliate which makes sense after covering your face with oil for a few days in a row. I was staring to break out which is so fucking frustrating when you’re forty. What, you’ll say the f word but use the word sugar? Yep. I’m complex.
Today, we were at the mall so I went into Sephora. I wandered back through the clouds of perfume and the crowds of co-workers all with the perfectly penned cat eye and found the skincare section. Enter a wonderful woman who spent the next thirty minutes giving me some of the best damn customer service I have ever received. She was articulate, beyond helpful, knowledgable and in no way seemed pushy. I purchased two of the items she suggested. Her make-up was on point, her hair looked fantastic. I wanted her to be my friend and teach me everything she knew about beauty. I loved her a little. Just like that. It’s why I feel so silly for what I’m about to say.
As she was speaking to me about one of the products I purchased, I noted she had her ears pierced and one of those enormous ring spacers in her lobe. Do you know what I mean? I’m not sure what they’re called but I found myself drifting off mentally listing the things I could fit in her open earlobe. My pointer finger? Yes. An ear of corn? No. A hot dog? Yes. On the bun? Ohhhh, tricky. I wasn’t sure.
It seemed strange to me to find someone who so meticulously took pride in their appearance to have a lobes stretched out so much I could probably, if I could fit my hand through there, wear her ear like a bracelet. I just laughed.
At this point I have no idea how to end this post. The whole mental back and forth on hotdog and bun or no bun was ridiculous and yet it amused me. I may be losing my marbles. And she can do whatever she wants with her ears, they’re her ears after all. As long as she continues to clearly excel at a job she does extremely well I should just keep my thoughts to myself. I’ll try. Maybe. And I’ll say bun but not potato bun because those are fluffier than the standard hot dog bun. Definitely a standard bun. Ok, I’ll go now… and take my meds :).