You only get what you give, and how to get free stuff.

As previously noted, the moment I turned 30 my skin turned into that of a desert rat. Since January I've been trying to resolve the issue with store-bought lotions and store-bought "moisturizing" makeup, all to no avail. Finally, after hearing my friend mention several times that she'd spent the weekend buying quality makeup she didn't need at Nordstroms as part of a comfort activity, I decided to check out the scene. (Didn't hurt that I had a lot of money in gift certificates that I was looking to burn.)

So on the last day of my vacation I ventured into the makeup section of the multi-tiered Nordstroms in the city. At first it was overwhelming - the colors! the lights! the makeup girls! the scents! the price tags! - and I almost turned back, but a surge of bravery overcame me and I plodded on. I kept my iPod earplugs plugged to appear as though I was merely browsing, which seemed to kind of work on the sales girls upstairs a few minutes before. But then SHE appeared. After hearing that I was looking for moisturizing foundation, she happily obliged... and then some. And for some strange reason, I succumbed.

Fifteen minutes later, I was decked out in a ratty t-shirt, ratty jeans, ratty Chuck Taylors, and plum eye shadow, eggplant mascara, pink lip gloss and lipliner, "bronzer" (I still don't really know what that is), blush and - yep - moisturizing foundation. It took a lot of effort not to burst out laughing when I saw myself in the mirror.* The foundation felt like just what the doctor ordered, though, not surprising at A LOT OF MONEY A JAR (you only get what you give), so I asked for a bottle and subtly mentioned that I don't normally wear all that other goop. Information which she took rather well. I imagine they're used to it. If I ever get married, hell, I'm going there before the ceremony. Free makeover!

Anyway, of course they were out of the "tone" of foundation I needed (and how to get free stuff) so she gave me 2 little vials of free foundation and took my phone number. A week later, I returned to the store where a flamboyantly gay man called me "little lady" and finally handed over my purchase. And now I still have most of the 2 vials plus what appears to be a six-month supply of really, really good shit. Um, makeup, that is. Lest the DEA gets confused.

And the moral of this long girlie story is... I dunno. Pay a lot of money and your skin will no longer look like that of a desert rat? Frankly, I'm still hung up on the "little lady" reference.

________________
* A few hours later I went for a run, and forgot that I had all that goop on my face, and wiped my face with my sleeve... which is now purple for life.