On the solemn and momentous occasion of the thirtieth anniversary of my birth, my friend, herewithin these blogparts known as "Harvard Barbie," announced that we would celebrate by drinking wine and then visiting the Clinique counter for a makeover, because I was all grown up, apparently, and should stop wearing Bonne Bell. Which was not altogether accurate, because at the time, my beauty routine had graduated to the very sophisticated CoverGirl mascara and cherry chapstick, but whatevs.
So, I dropped off my newly-acquired husband with Harvard Barbie's sort of broken-in husband and their infant twins, a twelve pack of microbrew and off to the mall we went.
I may have mentioned my disdain for malls.
And all things girly.
And pretty much anything that has to do with malls or shopping or all things girly.
Proving how dearly I love Harvard Barbie.
Also, at the time, I had a little mantra going of "VPx33" or, VP by 33. I was on a fast track and was certain that if I did everything just so, right down to the eyeliner, I'd be a Vice President at the company I was working before turning 33 years old. I figured a night out with my oldest homegirl would be fun, and if I looked all professional and shit in the process, then BONUS, the only hazard would be I'd be VPx32. Which would suck because it doesn't rhyme but I was willing to take the risk.
In any case, HB and I had a fab evening at the mall, complete with appetizers and copious amounts of Merlot and then we made our way over to the white-coated ladies at May D&F for my official entre into grownupness.
I cannot be sure, but if I had to venture a guess the woman who denounced everything about my appearance was 22. She smelled like Marlboro Reds and TransAm seats. (But in a nice way.) She had acrylic fingernails and hoop earrings and was shocked - SHOCKED I tell you - that I didn't wear eye shadow.
It went something like this:
Clinique Girl: (in between chomps of Wrigley's Big Red) You have really great eyes. So, you like brown eye shadow, then?
Me: Ummm. Thanks, and I don't think so? I don't know. I mean, I don't wear eye shadow really much since like, um, prom.
Clinique Girl: Wow. Huh. That's like totally weird, because your eyelids are totally like sparkly and have like brown on them.
Me: Really? (Leaning into hand mirror) Oooooh. Yeah, that's smeared mascara. I was rubbing my eyes because my friend here and me just had like, beaucoup Merlot.
Clinique Girl: (empty stare)
Me: That's like francois for "buncha wine."
Clinique Girl: Ew. Whateverrrrr. (chews acrylic nail)
Me: So... would another color be better?
Harvard Barbie: What about this awesome lavender?
Me: Would it cover up smeared mascara?
Clinique Girl: Yeah, maybe.
Today, 13.4 years later, I was digging through my very grownup makeup bag looking for cherry chapstick and I find this.
No damned wonder I'm not a Vice President.