True Story – Hot Dog / Earrings / Sephora / Skin Care

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 :).