Remember that time, not all too long ago, when I mentioned why I will never be able to retire, unless partially used beauty products suddenly become worth a bajillion dollars? And that I have spent probably the equivalent of the cost of a beach house – a beach house in a really poor country, filled with sunken foundations and hardships – but a beach house, nonetheless – in lipsticks and skin creams and magic elixirs?
Well, lest you think I was filled with hyperbole, I am here to prove to you that absolutely everything written here is in fact the troof and nuttin’ but the troof with no exaggerations whatsoever, except for the parts that I make up and exaggerate. Just so we’re clear.
I “won” a purse at the casino recently, Reader. I know, right? Like, a FREE leather-ish handbag, mine-all-mine for FREE, not counting that kazaillions of dollars I’ve pumped into those damn Quick Hits machines. Not counting that, it was completely FREE.
Since I got home late from the Card Mines tonight, and wanted to feel like I could check something off the “accomplished” side of the to-do list, I figured I’d make tonight the night to switch over from my honest-to-God-real Prada, into this non-name brand shoulder bag because it’s nice and roomy and it’s my Major Award, and gol’dern it, I’m going to use it.
I know, you’re probably wondering why I have to set “change over purse” as a to-do item, and that’s probably because you’re a man and don’t realize the time-consuming task of switching purses, or else you do carry a purse, but are much more organized than Trixie Bang Bang.
Because that girl? Carries around a lot of should-be-garbage in her handbag. Receipts and papers and scraps of notes and no less than half a dozen reminder cards from her footsie doctor as well as her chipped-tooth-fixer dentist, and also? A Taylor-Swift-worthy amount of lipsticks.
Just. In. My. Purse.
$100-ish dollars worth of lipsticks right there in that photo. And that’s not counting the three or four in my desk at work, and the horde in the bathroom.
Reader. I need a lipstick-intervention. Please everyone, start writing me notes about how much I mean to you, and why I need to quit the lipsticks, and then come over and read them to me and we can drink wine together. Really I’m just looking for a reason for you to come over and drink wine with me, but hearing nice things about me would also be nice. And maybe just maybe you could give me ten good reasons why I don’t need so much stick on my lips. Number one being “maybe you can buy a beach house someday instead.”
p.s. – If you thought Sophie would be shaming me with her whispers of “waste” I can guar.an.tee you she would be pursed-lip disapproving of all this beauty nonsense.