Today. Today was the day that I went into Sephora, a cool one hundred buckaroos in gift cards in my hot little hands.
I was greeted and helped for a little bit by a friendly employee named Elaine, but then I requested some time to browse lipstick colors, because let's face it, there are just a billion and one lipstick colors and I don't want to have some person I don't really know hovering over me while I literally look at every shade in the store. I like to think I'm old enough to know what looks good on me at this point. No matter how seductive frosted bubble-gum pink lipstick looks in the tube, I already know that I lost the ability to wear that about fifteen years ago. Well, I could wear it, but everyone would look at me funny.
I toyed with purchasing some of the i.d. bare escentuals powder foundation stuff, but they just can't convince me that I should pay twenty five bucks for powder that I am convinced is going to disappear on my skin in twenty minutes after I apply it. I am lucky enough to have fairly good skin, so I will stick with my two shades of tinted moisturizer, mixing them to whichever color suits me for the season. My skin in winter is a much different color in the summer, so it makes perfect sense to adjust the color as needed. A bit more work, perhaps, but worth the effort.
After browsing the shelves of Sephora for almost a half hour looking for some lipstick and possibly a lip pencil, I came away thinking that perhaps the beauty industry needs to tone down the sexual innuendos in their makeup naming process.
My mascara? Get Bent.
No, no, I'm not telling you off, that's the name of it. We'll see if it works as well as Elaine assured me that it would.
My lipstick? Foolish Virgin.
I must be getting really old, because I am embarassed that I own something with that name. But it's perfect, so what's a girl to do?
And, further proof that I am getting really old- I didn't spend the entire amount. I've got forty bucks left. Damn the pickiness!