So yes, a few gazillion years ago I was born on the first day of spring... during a blizzard. That pretty much was a foretelling of my life right there I suppose. For years and years I was told that I was named after a soap opera character, because they felt I wouldn’t take it well to learn that I was actually named after my dad’s first dog... frankly it came as a huge relief, because who wants to be named after a soap opera character?
But I digress, yesterday it was my birthday and a regular day off, so what better way to spend it than a day of pampering and shopping. Well, sorta.
Thanks to the economy, and despite the pleas for people to go rack up more credit card debt to “stimulate” the economy, I’m on a budget (poor) so I had two objectives in mind for that day:
1.) go buy some tinted moisturizing sunblock face stuff that was recommended by Bossy
2.) Check out the thrift store
3.) get latte
I really didn’t need to list #3, as that is a daily essential vitamin in my diet (along with Vitamin E, which I’ve been pretty good about taking along with my Zyrtec and I haven’t grown a horn out of my head, although I think I could accessorize a horn really cool.
Soooo, off I go at 10am on only 2 cups of coffee to the mall about 18 miles away. If only people would have known my condition, they would have stayed off the interstate.
First stop (of course)
Armed with a venti latte and a clearer head, I walked through the mall, checked out the puppy mill store (they had a husky, bastards... see ya in the shelter in 6 months when their unassuming purchaser who had no clue about northern breeds realizes its not a “snow dog” and dumps it), and found myself in front of the Sephora store.
As anyone that knows me, my going into a Sephora store with the intent to purchase anything is akin to a sign of the apocalypse, since I don’t wear makeup, never had. As I mentioned above, Bossy told me to go get that amazing product, so I had to. Ok, not really, but as I get older, I appear to be getting more and more blotchy, as a redhead the sun does stupid things to my skin (like creates more freckles) and I had given up all hope long ago that if I had a whole bunch of freckles, they would eventually merge and make me look really tan. So, sun block, moisturizer, and tint... pretty much what I need I think.
I walk into the virtually empty store and was immediately attacked by a helpful sales associate or “color specialist”. I knew this would happen and before I was thrown into a chair and made into a Kabuki theater actor, I whipped out the print out of the amazing moisturizer and said “I want this”.
I thought being prepared with the actual product page would save me from questioning or a hard sales push, but I was wrong. We got to the “product” and she asked “How does your T zone feel?” Um, I just met you, you really aren’t my type, plus I’m married and how dare you ask me something that private in a virtually empty store... ok, I didn’t say that, I actually said “What’s a T zone?” Apparently that’s the face area on your forehead and down your nose. I had no clue. “Is your T zone dry or oily?” She said “oily” as if leprosy was more desirable than having an oily T zone and I immediately recoiled and stammered that my T zone was perfectly normal, even though I could probably lube a car with my face. I’m lying to complete strangers about my oily T zone, what have I become?
Then she asked “what is your skin type?” and named off a bunch of seasons and feelings. I’m thinking to myself at this point “um, you are the ”color specialist“ I’m sure you had to graduate from color school or something, why can’t you just look at me and pronounce me a specific season? ”I don’t know“ I sputtered. I truly felt that she just wanted to torture me. They should send the Guantanamo prisoners to Sephora, they’d crack in 10 minutes.
Apparently, after sizing me up, she pronounced me a ”sand“, which is better than a ”compost“ or perhaps even a ”bark“ or something, who knows, but she proceeded to take a little sponge and a little q-tip thing and squirted a miniscule bit of ”product“ on the sponge, dabbed the Q-tip on it and rub it on my face and officially pronounced me a ”sand“. WHOOT!
”Do you have any sponges?“ Once again with the personal stuff, no I had my tubes tied so there’s no need for... oh, you mean to apply the stuff to my face... um, I don’t have any. She then told me that I would need a brush. Um... ok, then get me a brush. I balked at the silicone something or other setting something and managed to flee the store with generally what I had planned on getting and using... except for the brush, which I’m still not sure about, but its a really cool brush and I could always use it to baste a turkey with or something.
Next stop, thrift store, me with my Sephora bag, a latte, and yes, a small cheek part of my skin concealed with the rest of my face still blotchy.
I’ll save that for tomorrow, as I hate really long blog posts.