Not trying to channel Joan Rivers, but can we talk? I feel that I need to have this conversation. Anytime a story begins, “See, what had happened was…” Yeah, you know the ending isn’t a pretty one. So, before I begin, grab a drink and sit back for this tale of cosmetic horror.
Now, listen, I’m not one to beauty shame anyone. By no means am I a beauty guru, but I do like to look cute. (Or at least, I like to pretend that I look cute.)
Listen, I have a problem, not unlike many women. It’s not one that is discussed in polite company, but let’s get real. It happens. So, I’ll just throw it out there in all my shame. I’m a sweater. There, I said it. My grandmother tried to convince me that ladies don’t sweat. They perspire. Gurl! That’s a bunch of bull. I pump out sweat like a human Niagara Falls. Sorry, Grammy, but sell that elsewhere. And you know what? I don’t give a rat’s pahtoot about all these dainty deodorants in their all-too precious packaging and artsy logos. They don’t do diddly-squat to prevent my pits from being soaked. But that I can take. Here’s what I can’t—a runny foundation. OMG!
So, here is my tale of woe. For much of my life, I’ve been a drugstore beauty type of gal; that is, until, I grew sick of these companies taking my shades off the market. I understand that companies need to update and progress with the times. I get that consumer wants and interests change and evolve. But seriously, can the replacements not be crappy or, at least, easily found? But I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me rewind. Read the rest of this entry »