The time has come...

...to admit that make-up would, indeed, help the cause. The following is an account of my recent foray into the land of cosmetic "help":

Those of you that know me well know that I'm not exactly an eager customer. Actually, unless it's food/booze, handbags, shoes or outerwear, I'm just not arsed to spend the time shopping. I can just see myself through the eyes of the person behind a make-up counter:

Me (Napoleon Dynamite-esque, spotting a shiny object/ bottle): "uhhh, what's THAT?"

Immaculately made up lady/ gent behind counter (with expression a mix of condescension and incredulity): "it's our revolutionary product that you merely have to smooth on, and it will foam up on its own, take away all signs of excesses that you have WRIT LARGE on your face. We've been written up in Allure [you know...that shining beacon of a magazine that has pretty much featured every product on the face of the earth if you actually counted or kept track]"

Me (no change in expression): "oh. sweet. umm... do you make chapstick [my standard term for all lip balm... I know, I know... the marketers/ advertisers have won!!]?"

Immaculately made up lady/ gent behind counter (expression changing to horror): "No! We do have a vitamin and minerals enriched gloss that plumps your lips up and rushes color to them due to the naturally stimulating action of *(insert random mineral here)*"

Me (completely uncomprehending): "ok. thanks. bye."

SO... when I decided to venture into the land of eyelash curlers, an "advanced" product, by all accounts, some friends begged and pleaded with me to not blind myself (literally?) to the possible ill-effects my clumsiness could have in this instance. One went as far as to say "You have them now. Given your lack of deftness with anything aside from lip balm, you may be without any in months. Please reconsider this mid-life crisis move".

Long story short, my stubbornness being as resolute as my lack of grace, I plunged ahead and bought an eyelash curler from Nordstrom (from a fancy Japanese brand, having heard this name bandied about at work, from the mouths of marketing ladies who KNOW these things!). Honestly, the thing looks like a torture instrument. The thought of putting it anywhere close to my eyes makes me immensely nervous. But the girl (she WAS quite young... do parents let kids wear make-up that age?) behind the counter was really nice, and resisted the eye-roll and sigh that most places might resort to when they spot you trying to hold the curler like a gun in suicide position (it's highly likely that her other job was as a tutor in a special-ed school). Now the contraption is at home, waiting patiently to be used at my brother's wedding.