Last week, Mr. Spoiled Pretty abandoned his loving wife in favor of a camping/fly-fishing excursion to Idaho. Now you know I wasn’t about to go hiking up mountains and trek through the wilderness to chill with rattlesnakes, horse flies and mosquitoes. So I stayed my ass at home and caught up on some reading, writing, and arithmetic (I took inventory of my makeup stockpile, and I’m slightly embarrassed by my excessive collection of lipglosses).
By the time the weekend came around, I had developed such a case of cabin fever that it didn’t take long for my BFF, Kristen, to lure your resident recluse out of the house. After some indecision, we opted to meet at a low-key bar and catch up over cheap, domestic beer. It’s been crazy hot in Philly lately, so I didn’t put too much thought or effort into my outfit, hair, or makeup; I threw on some jeans, quickly flat ironed my hair, and swiped on some Cargo blu_ray™ High Definition Mattifier before finishing my face off with mascara and gloss.
Around midnight, after drinking probably a little too much (pitchers are dangerous cuz I can never keep count), I took a bathroom break. I perched my handbag on the sink, rummaged for my blotting papers, and prepared to sop up the grease. But when I looked in the mirror, I was absolutely astonished. My face was flawless (well, flawless as in shine-free…not flawless as in resembling Liya Kebede).
And my face remained that way until I washed it off before bed. In fact, the only oil-related incident that night was a basket of greasy fries that Kristen and I couldn’t resist ordering just before last call.