I am cycling to work, glowing gently, the result not of healthy exercise nor over-active glands but the pronounced over-use of cosmetics.
If The Simpson's ever revamp their skin tone range and opt for orange, I reckon I'd be in with a chance of playing the entire family.
As it is, the more cautious drivers take one look at my face and apply the brakes, assuming they've encountered a walking amber light and sensibly taking early precautionary measures.
"You should go and get yourself sorted out," says one of the other teachers, surveying my early morning makeup when I arrive at school.
"It's another acute case of slap, but minus the tickle, isn't it?" I ask, gloomily.
"That new shop down the road has got this marvellous range of foundation colours to choose from and they'll take the time to advise you on which shade is right for you," she says, diplomatically avoiding the question, as we pick up the 100 sheets of photocopied christmas stars that she dropped in horror when she first saw me. "Admittedly, all the girls seem to be aged around 13, made up like Tutankhamun and talk very slowly and loudly at you if you're anywhere over 25, but it's a small price to pay for getting your make up right."
I think it sounds like a very, very large price to pay. And, as I make my way into the hall, unwrapping the piano from its protective cover with an ill-tempered tug, I take my mind off things by reflecting on the alternative Christmas catalogue I'm currently devising. So far, the product range runs as follows:
Bumper pack of 'Face the truth' fragranced tealights, containing one each of the following:
Mid-life pack. A subtle blend of mould and general decrepitude. Entire pack guaranteed to be well past its best.
Early years desperation pack. All your favourite smells - sick, poo, wee and misery. Packaged in toning shades of brown.
Menopause pack: Guaranteed to flare up without warning then to subside in pool of wax.
Coming soon: "Back off, world." The long-awaited Omega Mum range of cosmetics. Guaranteed to be sold by people older than you are - thus giving an instant lift to your spirits before you've even seen what's on offer.
Be afraid, Lakeland. Be very, very afraid.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
10 comments:
I bet you don't look that bad. By the way, my mice come gift wrapped with sateen bows. Some even make a noise.
Crystal xx
Ooh, how about teenager pack with subtle fragrance of cigarette smoke & alcopops, complete with slam-to lid?
CJ: I'll take a baker's dozen, please, with assorted sqeaks.
tina: I think there's a Christmas retail sensation in this. Let's do it..
I'm depressed reading this. Slap and no tickle made me laugh though.
How about the urine and cooked cabbage ones for the residential home ambiance?
Iota: I am sorry to depress you. The Omega Mum persona is not necessarily a thing of beauty, either inside or inside. But will update you on any tickle.
Sweet Omega Mum,
I know you look stunning. Anything (even orange foundation) is better than facial surgery that went wrong! I was in New York recently and a man in the make-up hall at Barneys said mine was the only "un-enhanced" face he had seen for an age! Then he painted me up like one of the cast from The Lion King. You, me and Jordan will start a new trend!
All make-up salespeople are bullies, at least the ones I encounter. I bet you look lovely. Do you think the new range could really rival the appeal of shiny new tupperware boxes? What a thought....
I just love the way you write!!
I want my face lift, bugger the cosmetics! It's not the knife I fear, but the anesthesia - if I'm asleep I can't give orders can I? not that I'm controlling...
Post a Comment