Barefaced

I never thought of myself as a ‘make up’ person.  I just wear mascara because as a ginger/blond-ish person I generally look half asleep if I don’t. I wear some sort of base just so that my rosy cheeks don’t make me look like I’ve been on the wine all day (I promise I haven’t!) and so it covers some of the dark circles under my eyes, but that is usually it. I was also briefly an Avon rep but had to give it up as I was spending all/more of my earnings on the very same make up I was supposed to be selling, but I definitely wasn’t a ‘make-up’ person…or so I thought.

However, a couple of weeks ago, on a Friday night before going to the theatre with a friend, I lost my make-up bag.

 It was my own fault for a) trying to apply make-up whilst walking, b) having a small bag which was, as usual bursting at the seams and c) not being remotely aware of the world around me and, in my defence it was the end of a stressful week. I’d just finished work after a 9-hour day and I was knackered and somehow between the carpark and the restaurant I was meeting my friend at, I lost my make-up bag…with all my make up in it.

And I cried.

I’ll just go back to the bit about my stressful day and week for justification but that seemed like an overreaction to losing some make up, even to me!  But it wasn’t just some, it was all of it.

I’d lost my beloved Bare Minerals brush which made applying foundation or BB cream quick and easy, meaning I could do my make up in the 3 minutes from when I drove into the work carpark and when I actually exited the car to go into work. 

I’d lost my blusher which made me look a bit more alive on a cold day. 

I’d lost my bronzer which led me to believe (even for just a brief second) that I do actually tan when I go on holiday (I don’t).

I lost my eyeliner which I had just about got the hang of applying and made me look slightly more grown up and sophisticated – well I thought anyway and,

I had lost my Cath Kidston make-up bag which my brother and sister-in-law got me for my first birthday after splitting with my ex and when everything was, pretty much, falling down around my ears.

So I sat in the car and I cried…and then I realised I couldn’t fix my face because I had no make-up, so I cried a bit more.

So apparently I am a make-up person.

I also hadn’t realised how expensive the stuff is! Generally, you don’t buy your make up all in one go.  You slowly build a collection, working out what brands, colours, textures you like, spending time and effort culturing this collection that will help you face the day. £5 here, £7 there.  So having to walk into Superdrug on a Sunday and purchase everything in one go was a bit of an overwhelming situation for both myself and my wallet.  I forgot what skin tone I had, I forgot how some mascaras just irritate my contact lenses and I look like a panda by lunchtime. I forgot that, unless its fool proof, I’m going to fuck it up and unless its quick I’m not going to use it. But after what seemed like hours hovering over all the make-up stands (so much so the ‘security’ had started to loiter close to me) I put all the novelty items back. I gave up trying to fit everything in with the myriad of BOGOF, 2for1 and spend ‘£20 get a free contouring set’ deals and gathered together a selection of, what I think, are fool proof items to start my new collection, and do you know what?  I don’t think I’ve done too badly.

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Girls night out.

On Friday night I went out out with some friends from work. It was organised a while back with a group of about six girls. I’d missed out on leaving drinks for my previous job and we’d had other leavers and birthdays since then so I asked the babysitters (my parents) if they would have Charlotte and they said yes. All sorted. Let the party begin!

However, as time got closer and two girls bailed I realised I would be going out with two twenty two year olds and a twenty five year old. All who are hot and slim and hair is perfectly quaffed. They’ve also perfected that pout in all their Instagram poses which I cannot do without it looking comedy.

I started panicking. What the hell was I going to wear? I didn’t want to look like mutton dressed as lamb but I also knew that my ‘jeans and a floaty top’ combo would not cut it this time.

Queue panic mode. The only info I had was that one was wearing a backless play suit and another, a dress. I tried not to snigger at the idea of me in a backless play suit and tried to get serious so left work early to rush down to the nearest Outfit and buy the trendiest thing I could find. I realised very quickly that a crop top and shorts would not be the way forward however, so turned around and walked out.

I had planned to have the evening to sort myself out but, as they always do, plans changed and I had to pick up Charlotte from nursery, entertain her and try and get ready all at the same time. Easy peasy of course. I missed random bits of my leg whilst shaving, I have never applied fake tan so quickly, my hair dried into a fluffball despite all normal products being used and I still didn’t know what to wear. I stopped counting the amount of times my skinny jeans came on and off but I decided on a dress in the end. I say decided, I mean my friend was waiting outside to pick me up whilst I was wearing it so I had no choice.

I did my make up in the car and realised I had forgotten my mascara. The one item my face can not live without.  I felt old, my tan was somewhat haphazard, my hair was poofing at a rate of knots and now I would look like I was half asleep as well.
 

The end of the night
 Whilst out I got skipped over being ID’d twice (both times all my friends did), I realised I knew the words to songs the rest of my group had never heard before, I ordered a single measure of gin despite doubles being only a few pence extra and I wanted to dance when apparently it was not cool to do so.

Things I learnt through the night were;

  • that Coventry is a pretty crap night out
  • despite not looking ‘old’, I definitely do not look young
  • drinking out of volcanoes is never a good idea
  • and dance music and strobe lights is not my idea of good music to dance to. 
    The aforementioned volcano – who knows what was in there!
      
    Us pretending we’re enjoying the said beverage.
     

So at 1.30am I took my poorly feet and bottle of water home and hoped for at least a lie in the next morning…

I didn’t get one – damn you body clock!!