Monday, 21 October 2013


I wasn't feeling particularly glamorous this morning.  In fact, I was feeling washed out, a bit frizzy and frumpish.  'I know what will solve this problem', I thought.  I reached into the depths of my make up bag (comprising: offcasts from my mother circa 1987, some crappy mascara and pharmacy specials) and pulled out Boots' finest red lipstick.  I plastered it on, thought "self, problem solved!" and headed for the door.

My husband looked at me a little oddly, but recovered to smile and said "You've made an effort today".  He gently reached up and thumb-smeared the corner of my mouth to remove some excess outside the lip line.  He walked with me to work and even held my hand for a bit.

I reached work.  ('Love is A Battlefield', 8am at the cafe today.) Got in the elevator.  There's a mirror in the elevator, unsteamed and under fluorescent light.  I look like Chuckles the Fucking Clown, guys.  It's not good. 

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