You know how you walk down an aisle in a store and you see a woman who has a button popped open? Do you tell her? I do...always. Why? Because I would want someone to tell me.
So imagine my surprise when my little co-worker, The Princess, who I thought was my friend, didn't tell me!!!
Oh, it wasn't a button that popped. It was worse....
I'm a confirmed cosmetic junkie. There's probably some deep, dark, dastardly reason why I feel compelled to buy all kinds of makeup. I don't have any idea what it is and to be truthful, don't really care. Home shopping TV channels make it easy to indulge my habit.
One of my latest purchases was a trio of clear lipsticks. They're like a solid gel stick, that leaves just a hint of color on your lips...supposedly adjusting to your...or, in this case, my, skin tone.
I showed one to The Princess this morning and told her if she wasn't afraid of cooties, she should try it...mistakenly thinking her hesitancy was somehow related to a fear of germs.
She tried it and got the "hint of color"...the one I thought I had. That was, until the end of the day when I went to the bathroom and saw my face in the mirror when I went to wash my hands.
It looked like I had hot pink clown lips. No shit...the brightest fucking pink you could imagine was plastered on the ol' pie hole. I was horrified... I tried to wipe it off with the paper towel after I dried my hands and it wouldn't wipe off. It felt like a nice lip balm going on so I just kept slathering it on all day, completely unaware that my lips were getting pinker and pinker with each slather.
When the wet paper towel failed me, I left the bathroom and headed back to my office...with my hand covering up the fuschia lips. I was laughing by this time...because, really, what else could I do.
I stopped by to give The Princess a piece of my mind on my way back...
"Why didn't you tell me my lips were bright pink?" "How could you let me walk around like that?"
She laughed sheepishly...obviously because I looked like an ol' pink lipped clown screeching at her.
You know how you see an old lady in a store, all pale wrinkled skin, no color on her face at all...except for bright red lips? And you think to yourself, holy fuck, doesn't she have a mirror in her house? What's with the lips grandma? Why didn't someone tell her???
I have no idea how this happened...she is me...or, I am her...or somehow I got her fucking lips...it's The Stoopidist Thing.