M.A.C Attack
This morning I was awakened not simply by my BOSE alarm clock and radio, but also by the startling realization that I was totally out of lip gloss.
I am certain you do not understand the severity of my plight; this is not just any lip gloss to which I speak, this is M.A.C LipGlass.
For those of you who wear this product, I suspect that you understand how precious of a product M.A.C LipGlass is for a woman.
I am a total glamour queen when it comes to cosmetics, and it would be an understatement to imply anything less than the fact I feel like the most amazing, most sensual woman as my lipstick applicator runs across my full lips, stroking them with M.A.C LipGlass.
As I awaken to this fact, I realize that I must go and pick up another tube of M.A.C LipGlass; instantly I am flooded with panic.
To my fellow cosmetic fashionistas, vis a vis M.A.C Cosmetic lovers, I am certain that you all know and understand the terror that washes over each of us as we approach the pearly gates of any M.A.C counter or store.
It has been said; any woman who approaches a M.A.C counter without her best cosmetic face and finest fabrics will be shunned and banned in Ethegy.
When I know that I am due for a trip to my local M.A.C counter, I prepare my outfit two days early, however; no such preparation was adhered to this time due to the fact that I have been working like mad and simply did not notice I was running from low, to non-existent via LipGlass.
Yes I love M.A.C; no one who knows me can argue with that, however I feel like I must prepare for the Academy Awards before each visit to M.A.C.
My friends and I have a saying when referring to M.A.C; “There are no impromptu trips to M.A.C.”
After I have exhausted all attempts at procrastination and fear, I jump out of bed and run to my closet.
All I want to do is pull my hair back, throw on my yoga tights, a tank top and my flip flops while grabbing my Coach Hobo bag and running out the front door, but this is not going to happen.
I stand in my closet, gazing at the color coded fabric that is my wardrobe and I say to myself, “D, this is not a job interview, nor is it the most pertinent moment of your life…it is a cosmetic counter.”
With that thought, I close my eyes, breathe in deep and grab the first thing my hands touch.
When I opened my eyes, in my hands was a long fuchsia dress with an empire waist band with gold Fleur De Lis symbols.
I threw the dress on, took care of my hygiene, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, grabbed my flip-flops and my Coach Hobo bag and ran out the door.
When I arrived at Nordstrom’s Dept Store, I walked as slow as I possibly could while I made a pit stop at the Chanel cosmetic counter to apply mascara, and lightly mist myself with Chanel No.22 …yes…No.22.
When I arrived at the counter I was rudely greeted and given the up-down by a red head with beautiful porcelain skin and an awful attitude.
She asked me if I needed help finding anything, but I gave her the wave-off and pulled my cell phone out of my purse while I made a faux phone call to absolutely no one.
I grabbed a clear Lipglass and a Prolonged Gloss Coat Wear, checked out with a different beautiful, yet rude M.A.C cosmetic artist and high tailed it out of there.
As I walked out of the store, I was proud at my newly acquired apathetic nature, and when I got in my car and drove away, I said “The hell with it, next time…I go naked.”
By: Danaeca Scott
