Like if someone has spinach in their teeth. Or their fly's open. Skirt's tucked in panties in the back.
My general rule is that if I'd want someone to tell me, I tell them. Like today. Went to Schwab to make a deposit. Sweet receptionist had major mascara malfunction. I couldn't take my eyes from it, so I said, "You have a little smudge." She whipped out her compact and carefully corrected it with a little spit on her finger. She said, "Fuck those motherfuckin' inferior bastard quasi-co-workers - they should've told me. Thank you so much."
Ok, I took a little poetic license there, but that was the essence. The point being that someone should've told her. A long discussion re liquid v. pencil v. gel eyeliner ensued. She used liquid - I can't because my hand isn't steady enough. She doesn't like pencil because it tugs the delicate eye tissue. I told her about Rimmel Kohl pencil and we discussed the proper proportions of wax and pigment. She didn't know about gel eyeliner - kind of a hybrid. You use a brush, so you can get very close to the lash line. There's plenty of pigment. And best of all, you can smudge it so it's not harsh. If I tried to use liquid liner, I'd look like Liz Taylor's Cleopatra. Or Priscilla Presley as Elvis' 14 year old concubine. Sans the beehive. The only thing that saves me from the Cleo eyes is that my bangs are always down in my eyes. In second grade, my teacher sent a note home telling my mother to trim my bangs. Damn, she would cut them crooked, try to fix it and overcompensate again and again until they wound up looking like a long toothbrush implanted in my forehead.
Wow, here I go again. Off on a tangent. Back to whether to tell. My only conundrum with this is when a man has his fly unzipped. If I don't know him, I try to discreetly ask another man to tell him after I leave. I'm sure they give him hell, but since I'm not around to blush, that doesn't matter. If I know him well, I'll say "XYZ." If he looks confused, I spell it out for him. And try not to laugh when he reacts. If I know him REALLY well, I just reach down and zip it up myself. Ok, I'm making that last one up.
See, I've been known to walk around with my pants unzipped (especially if they have two backwards buttons at the waist - I can't stay focused on a three part task). I've worn two different shoes. Didn't notice that until I noticed my sudden limp. Spinach in my teeth. Leaves in my hair. You get the idea.
Today, it was my wrap skirt which didn't wrap quite far enough when the wind gusted and my button up blouse that was a tad too tight. I was so busy holding my skirt closed and juggling my cell phone, bank deposits, keys, purse and sunglasses that I didn't notice that the button right in between the sisters had popped open. I did, however, notice a few double takes. I checked to make sure my skirt wasn't tucked in my panties and that there wasn't toilet paper stuck to my foot. That wasn't it. I figured it was my perfectly smudged eyeliner. The sunlight shining on my wind-tousled, chemically-altered hair. Or the fact that I was in Whole Foods, a rose among thorns, since the store was filled with earth mothers who, quite naturally, eschew hair care products, makeup (especially eyeliner) and anything involving chemicals. Hell, I'm sure they all use those stupid crystal rock deodorants which don't do shit. And I know for sure their underarms have never been near a razor. Same with pubes and legs. They think it's sophisticated. European. I hear in Europe they think a bidet can get them a month between showers. Thank god I was born in the USA. Actually, Japan, but that's neither here nor there. I have a glorious, unlimited supply of cheap, wonderfully pure water from artesian wells.
Well, I've lost the whole point of this diatribe. I'll close now by saying that I've changed into shorts (checked the zipper) and a top without buttons. It's a peasant top, which is perfectly suited to my guitar lesson in 10 minutes or so. After a day of high finance, moving money, making major judgments about income tax payments and hoping I don't overdraw any client bank accounts, I'm in the mood to pretend to be Jewel or some Lilith Fair artist.
So off I go...
No comments:
Post a Comment