The Douche Pencil

This weekend, I made a huge mistake. 

I’m not afraid to admit it.

Vanity has a price.  Always.

I marched to the makeup  It is yet another futile attempt at hanging on to my youth, I suppose.  It always ends in some disaster.  Kind of like the time I had laser done and the numbing agent was still active.  I was starving, went to Chipotle and walked around with a black bean stuck on my lip until I saw it in the mirror.  Not embarrassing at all.

counter and asked for an eyebrow pencil.

I think it’s the Universe saying “Get over it, you old bat!  No matter what you do, your glory days are OVER”!

“This is waterproof, right?” I asked the sales lady.

“No.  It’s water resistant.”

“What the hell is the difference?  Waterproof means I need a fire hose to remove it, right?”

Then she tried to sell me eye make up remover.  Like I have time to remove that shit every night? Adding one more thing to my already hectic schedule of bitching, sweating and complaining is just too much.  Don’t sweat the small stuff, isn’t that what they say?

So, I buy the eyebrow pencil.  Got to mask out those pesky gray hairs that have a serious effect on my ego and cause me grief.  There are too many to pluck out these days.

This morning, I ran a few errands while experiencing the mother load of hot flashes.  I wondered why people kept staring at me.  I just kept wiping the sweat from my brow, like I always do.

I give up.  It's a douche pencil.  Not embarrassing at all.