Beauty Queen

I don't wear a lot of make-up. Most days? None! I'm fresh. I'm natural. I'm woman.

But when I DO wear make-up? Here's the torture I go through when it comes to whether or not I think I look fabulous.

Applying make-up in the master bathroom: All is well. I look stunning under the soft glow of the vanity lights. Good application! Not too much! Features? Enhanced. I am god damn radiant.

Take a peek in the mirror while visiting the front bathroom during the day because it's closer to my office, and really why should I trek all the way to the master bath?: What. The. Fuck. Am I trying out for the circus today? Please let it be the yellow-y tinge of the lighting in here. Otherwise? Cutting will be my new hobby.

Applying lipstick at the entry hall mirror on my way out the door: Okay, that's better. I am beautiful again. Look at how the sun streaks through my long luscious curls? Skin, so freaking supple. I would make out with me. And yes, I would French.

One last peek in the car rearview mirror before hopping out to meeting: Jesus H. Christ. I could go fishing in my pores! How does hair sprout from THERE? UHHH AHHHH I can't make this meeting.

How does this happen? Trickery!