My Pretty /Ugly Day

Saturday morning I woke up and made a decision. "Tonight we are going to watch the movie Split," I declared to Mike. I am interested in it because it's about a guy with twenty-three personalities, to which I can totally relate because of what happened to me on Thursday. Kind of a long story, but basically,  I decided to go to the mall and treat myself to a Sephora makeover. Who better to tell me how to camouflage the deflated balloons below my eyes than a seventeen-year-old nymph who has just finished her lunch of  PBand J and a juice box.

I don't know what it is but when I sit down at a makeup counter it's like I have been slipped a date rape drug. I wake up 30 minutes later, looking like the clown from It, and worse, agreeing with the tot that "Yes it really DOES highlight my features and  it looks SO natural!" Is it the mirrors? The lighting? Is there something pumped into the air that causes me to believe that I have just taken ten years off my face without surgery, when in reality I look like an aging geisha?

Because that's what I looked like when I left there carrying the iconic black and white bag which was  holding an eyebrow pencil, ("Oh gosh! I can sort of make out your natural outline but it's really, really faint")  a gallon of under-eye concealer and about a month's mortgage worth of makeup that I WILL NEVER WEAR. Primers! I bought primers! Eyebrow, face, lip—go ahead, throw in some fucking ear lobe primer. Yes! Yes!

Your make up will stay fresh all day, your coworkers will wonder how you do it!

What? I don't work! Can I still have it? I need it! 

Then I decide to show off my new look by walking down to the Nordstrom coffee shop and having a cobb salad and peach iced tea. I am totally walking but in my mind I am skipping in a white petticoat and singing, I Feel Pretty. As I meandered I noticed all the bright colors, the shorts, the little t-shirts and candy colored sun dresses adorning the windows.  I walked through the Nordstrom shoe department and saw the new trendy sandals that I will buy for a song in the summer of 2019 when they are on final clearance at Nordstrom Rack, and I thought, "Summer's here! Yay! Dinners on the dock! Wine drinking outside! May even be invited to a pool party!" And that led me to the thought of a bathing suit, and that took my mood down a bit. Still the salad perked me up, though I think they have cut back on the bacon bits and I wish they wouldn't put that big slimy blob of avocado on the top.

Anyway, lo and behold, right across from where I sat with my salad, was a bathing suit store called  Under Water, or Watered Down, I don't remember. For the sake of this blog let's just call it, Don't Even Bother. Stay Out. I went in and tried on a few bathing suits.

 So, basically I came to the mall with the personality of a normal middle aged woman excited about a a makeover and lunch and left with the personality of someone who has just witnessed something horrible, something they will need PTSD therapy for. One minute I was crying and the next I was  yelling "Hey! What are YOU looking at?"  to anyone who got in my way as I ran to my car with the knowledge that I will be that weird person wearing shorts at the pool.

So, I totally get the multi-personality thing.

I know what you're thinking. How was the movie? 
I have no idea. I got impatient going through the movie list and about 10 titles into the A section I clicked on A Dog's Purpose. It's great, you know, a DOG DIES five times and finally comes back to his original owner. The night ended with my new primers streaming down my face.  I also donated money to the ASPCA, the Humane Society, every kill shelter in Florida and I may have offered to foster homeless St. Bernards.

So, what's the moral of the story? First of all,  aging geishas have no business looking for bathing suits. They are only supposed to be seen in kimonos, which may be my new beach attire. Secondly, if I do have a multipersonality disorder I am going to use it to my advantage and channel a personality I will call Avery; she will dress like a professional, hate cake, and be able to drink more than two martinis without holding her empty glass up and yelling "Hey! Bartender! Hit me again!" which really does go to show, there is an upside to everything.


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