Mirror Mirror on the Wall
Today I went down to the cosmetics department of my local Macy's department store.
It's safe now, by the way. They've stopped spraying innocent shoppers with perfume. I'm sure that this change must have been brought about by some kind of allergy related lawsuit but I'm glad the perfume sample lady's reign of terror is finally over. I'm not a big fan of perfume or shopping so having to suffer an eyefull of sweet smelling mace just to get to the missy sportwear department just wasn't worth the bother.
My mission today is to find some makeup to cover up the dark cirles under my eyes.
It's a genetic thing. My grandmother has circles, my mother does, even Bas-Shifra has them. Add in the fact that I never get enough sleep and that the little bit of a tan I got this summer is pretty much history and I start looking like those anemic children you see in horror movies (well around the eyes anyway) at just about this time every year.
I approach the counter and tell the woman what I'm looking for and she begins to dutifully study my complexion and examine the 50 or more bottles of skin toned makeup to see what my perfect color match might be.
Could it be "honey beige," "matte bisque," or "light almond?"
No it could not.
Oh dear let's try "taupe" or "rich nude" (I loved that one!)
No no, not quite right.
Mind you, I know very well what color I am. It's the same every time. Color #01 the first freaking color in the grid. I am, and have always been, the lightest customer that Macys ever expects to meet.
Still, I let the woman try in the hopes that perhaps THIS time I may get to be something more than the wan #01. Could I be #05? Or even just #02? I did go for a couple of lunchtime walks this week and I've been eating a lot of carrots...
Nope - she's found it, good old "pale petal" color #01.
I am, once again, the fairest of them all.