I have been accused on occasion (falsely, of course) of being just the tiniest bit of a drama queen.
I know, right? WHO would say such a thing about me? Me! – possibly the most reasonable and rational gal you are likely to meet within ten feet of a chicken coop or 30 feet of a wine glass.
Ok. Maybe there is a grain of truth in the accusation. A molecule. An atom. A lepton of truth… or possibly a quark. That is such a cool word, “quark.” I have been waiting whole months to use that in a post. A post that did not involve ducks, even. Aren’t you glad you stuck around for it? You’re welcome!
Yes. It is true I was something of a drama geek in school, and I would love to tell you that I have regrets over that, but truly I don’t. One of the very best things about hanging out in and around the theatre was that, if I was not on stage, I was certainly manning a makeup sponge somewhere in the background.
Oh, the fun to be had transforming a 15-year-old face into that of a 50-year-old! Granted, what can be accomplished by means of paint and spackle is somewhat limited. The skinniness of youth, breaking voice and oily T-zone were generally dead giveaways that the stage paint had lied. But it was all in good fun.
Oh, how ironic it is that at present I am continuing to hone those same skills in narrowing the gap between my 48-year-old face and the one I took entirely for granted at 15. I will admit to at least a modicum of fairly expensive success.
Which brings me to my current drama queen moment.
I’m having mascara issues. First world problems! But I have thrown away the past 3 tubes of brand-new yet horrid mascara and am still eeking away at a mostly dry tube of waterproof L’Oreal that I bought back in January. (L’Oreal has since ceased making this formula – a big, first-world boohoo for me!) I swear. Either they go on so thick they make me look like Cruella DeVille, or they take ages and ages to dry and therefore get smeared everywhere a la Tammy Faye* on a really sad day. I can never seem to sit still long enough to allow drying time. They are just eyelashes, for heaven sake. Who has time to let them DRY??
What is more, can anybody out there in the universe explain to me what is the point of mascara that is not waterproof?
In perusing the cosmetic aisles, I seem to find literally hundreds of lash formulas that can lengthen, thicken, straighten, strengthen, “manga,” curl or grow one’s lashes. While all those options sound amazing to cosmetic-loving me, virtually none of these formulations come in a waterproof variety.
Considering the fact that one’s eyeballs are nearly 100% water, that most of us either sneeze, chop onions or get upset enough to cry on more or less a daily basis, what on earth are the cosmetic retailers out there thinking? And then there are contact wearers like me who are advised not to use waterproof mascara.
What’s up with that?
Contact wearers have the wateriest eyes around – and we are NOT supposed to wear waterproof? You have got to be kidding me.
Drama queen me needs either answers or a better cosmetics counter. Maybe both.
(Rant over.) Tomorrow, I am going in search of the ultimate waterproof formula. Suggestions, anyone?
*If you’re under 45, you will likely need to google Tammy Faye. Trust me. The
scandal story is worth looking up!
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