Thursday, August 19, 2010
never in moderation
Sleeping over always necessitates some form of logistical admin.
The overnight bag filled with [in no particular whoreder]:
2) Fresh doondies
3) Outfit for next day [crease-free items that can be scrunched]
4) Toothbrush and deo
5) Makeup bag
6) keys, iPod, wallet, travel card, phone
Except that after a few glasses of South African piss rouge with the flatmates, I left my makeup bag.
Late and frantic this morning, I exited the Brit's house without my face on.
Look, if I was wandering the streets of Cambodia in cheesecloth pants, I wouldn't care. If I'd just been on a run, [very fucking likely], I wouldn't care.
If I didn't have a crusty nose and sinus-induced bags under my eyes from a cold, then I probably wouldn't break into a sweat.
Except that I had on a new ho-pink bright dress and smart blazer for a breakfast meeting on Oxford Street - dressed for the part, save my mug. Not a drop of foundation on me.
I even checked the Brit's underwear drawer to see if he had a secret stash of foundation in there. Just in case. And in hindsight, bloody good thing he didn't. That would, I imagine with horror, deserve it's own blog post(s).
So having no makeup in one of the world's most stylish cities, where everyone looks tooled up and ready to fight using a Maybelline sabre, isn't ideal.
So I dashed into Boots, bought myself a whole blush and foundation pack, had no mirror, so just kind of rubbed it on, missed my train, and only realised after aforementioned breakfast meeting, that I looked like a cast member out of Priscilla Queen of the Desert.
The blush I had purchased in a frenzy and had emblazoned all over my face was discotastic, the type with glitter in it [gak!].
And so, I have been going about my day of spokespersoning in very serious tones with Barbie powder on my cheeks.
What a slice.
It's Poen's farewell to London drinks tonight. I envisage cocktails and pink blusher making a comeback.