Lip schtick

Iím not what youíd call a make-up person. Eye shadow is as far as Iím prepared to go on a daily basis. In a nice neutral tone. Most of which is probably gone before I even leave the house in the morning. On special occasions, I might be persuaded to apply a coat of mascara. But as I said, only on special occasions.

Iím not saying I donít own any other cosmetics. I do. About once a year, I go through a phase where I take a renewed interest in such things. Itís probably not a coincidence that it usually occurs roughly about six months prior to my birthday, when those ďWow, Iím almost ___Ē thoughts start filtering through my brain.

These thoughts are almost immediately followed by a desperate attempt to integrate all things cosmetic into my routine. Which lasts, roughly, 36 hours.

The remnants from my last foray into this oh-so-elusive realm are currently housed in a small make-up pouch in my purse. I consider it my emergency stash. Although, Iíve yet to define what kind of emergency would warrant the unexpected application of eye make-up. Well, you can never be too prepared, right?

My female friends and family members, are baffled by my lack of interest in such things. For them, there is no sin greater than to leave the house without putting on their ďface.Ē I, on the other hand, consider it a good day if I leave the house with weather-appropriate shoes.



My aversion to wearing make-up has nothing to do with any moral or philosophical disdain for the cosmetic. But rather my complete inability to apply it. Iím not sure how I missed out on this female rite of passage, but some how I did. Did I miss a day in 5th grade health class? I mean, thatís when they filled us in on all the other important stuff about womanhood. (And wow, what a shock that was to my pre-pubescent self!)

Not long ago, I was lamenting to a friend about what I considered a fatal flaw in the little wand-like applicator that comes with my preferred brand of eye shadow. The little foamy tip always comes off, which irritates me to no end.

Iím not sure I can adequately describe the precise mix of pity, disbelief and condescension in said friendís voice as she carefully explained that no one actually uses the applicators included with the eye shadow. Apparently, every woman worth her salt has a special set of brushes for this purpose.

Except me.

The whole removal process is also too much of a pain. Sure, I wash my face every night before I go to bed, right after I brush and, to appease my dental hygienist, floss. But I like to keep my evening ablutions simple. No three step processes, cold creams or fancy make-up removers.

Which is why the whole ďau naturelleĒ thing works so well for me.

As you may have surmised, given my lack of interest in cosmetic accouterments, there isnít much of a reason for me to spend too much quality time in the health & beauty section. But that isnít actually the case. You see, I have a fascination with one category of cosmetics in particular: lip color.

Iím drawn to lip glosses, lip sticks - and every other product on the market designed to add color, luster, moisture or sparkle to this part of the anatomy - like a moth to a flame.

The problem is, Iím never sure what color works on me. And once itís in my hot little hands, I almost never wear it. In fact, more often than not, I even forget I own it. Which is why, on a recent trip to the store, I went on what could only be described as a lip stick buying binge.

I returned to the office eager to show off my purchases to my co-worker Brian Golden (who, much to his chagrin, is forced to play the role of one of my girlfriends on an almost daily basis.) But as I dug in my purse to find my two most recent acquisitions, I found instead all of the other lip sticks and glosses in my forgotten stash.

By the time I was done, I had no less than eight lined up on my desk, ranging from barely-there to pretty pinks and maudlin mauves. And that wasnít counting the four or five lip balms I also discovered.

I guess you could call it a wake up call. I didnít even realize I had what my friend Liz would call a ďlip *&%%Ē addiction.

It was a blow. At least for the first couple of minutes. But then euphoria set in. And I pulled out the handy little mirror I had stowed in the aforementioned emergency make-up kit and started trying it all on.

See, I knew that thing would come in handy.

Follow me on Twitter ... @evesunmelissa.

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