Face off

After a hectically overloaded and very late day yesterday, I decided to slow down a little this morning. So I read the newspapers before I had a bath, played a little with a very sleepy Small Cat and eventually left home later than usual. En route here, I decided that it would be wise to finish my errands before I went to work, since I had not that much to do anyway. So my trusty steed, steered by my trusty driver, took me to the mall, where I was decanted and told to hurry up, I was obviously still tired and had to get to work soon so that I could leave at a decent hour. Dutifully nodding, I trotted into and out of a series of stores that were, mercifully, delightfully, comfortably, half empty.

I started with the counter of a well-known cosmetics brand. The girl, rather startlingly heavily made up, stared pop-eyed at me, even as I stared as pop-eyedly back at her. She must take her face off at night and put it on the next morning, I idly speculated, as I gauged the depth of her foundation, eye-shadow and lipstick. Since there was no other customer there and I probably looked like a potential big spender, I was soon surrounded by a gaggle of highly made-up young women, all chirping at me about their various products. But, in spite of being rather groggy even after doing my own face and being in the car for about an hour, I was prepared and managed to ignore most of them to ask only for what I wanted with a certain steely determination and resolve.

I began with my requirement for an eye-liner. Black, twist-up, no other, I demanded. The girl first stared at me, her eyes a-pop, as previously described, and mouth ever-so-slightly ajar. I smiled patiently at her and repeated my request. She suddenly woke up out of her stupor and reacted, albeit slowly. And she produced every colour but the one I wanted and tried very hard to persuade me to try all of them. Still being painedly forbearing, I tried again, to no avail. I was directed to another counter and another brand and went through the same spiel. Nope. No go.
No way. No black eye-liner of the ilk I had in mind. Leave your name and number and we will get back to you, one of the china dolls promised. I have done so many times. I did so again. I do not expect to hear from anyone about my eye-liner ever again.

Then I trotted over to a counter which displayed products that I have used often, though I have never bought them locally. I stared sleepily at the range, which seemed to stare sleepily back at me. I looked at cleanser and moisturiser, toner and corrector, and various other bottles and tubes of various other products I have never used and would probably never use. The girl in charge, also highly made-up, offered me testers, brochures and her personal consultation, while I backed away slowly, my patient and forbearing smile never fading. The floor was starting to fold upwards, slowly rolling towards me – an artefact of a persistent headache and exhaustion all mixed up together. I shook my head at her, saying I was just looking and walked away.

But my business was with the counter next door, which had products that promised me that even short-term use would make me look and thus feel younger and more radiant by the day. Younger I was not sure I wanted to look, but more radiant would always be desirable. After all, too few hours of too restless sleep and my inevitable habit of taking myself and my life too seriously were making sure that any radiance that I may have was slowly fading into baggy eyes and creased forehead. I had to change that before it got unchangeable. And since I tend to believe in promises made through beautifully-filmed television commercials, I bought what I was told would be more than merely effective. Clutching my little bag, vaguely and strangely remotely irritated about not getting what I wanted and not really energised enough to look for whatever I have always said I would look at (from long-lasting kiss-proof lipstick – which at least would not come off on Small Cat and make her more colourful than her little self already was – to an under-eye gel that vowed to delete any vestige of dark circles, to a foam cleanser that eliminated any trace of clogged pores and dead cells) I floated away in search of cat food.

Which I didn’t get either. But that, my friends, is a story best told when I am more grounded.