Apparently it's August. I'm not sure exactly how this happened, other than the whole inevitable passage of time, clock slowly ticking toward death, blah blah blah. It has often been pointed out to me that I don't understand the passage of time, and my frequent exclamations as to people's age relative to the number of months or years since I saw them last ("When did you turn into a big grownup girl??" "Last time I saw you, you were still a tiny thing!" and other such Obnoxious Old Aunty behaviors, though I'm not to the cheek pinching stage... YET) only serves to prove this point.
Anyway, so it's August, which in the midwest is another word for humid. And humid, as everyone knows, is another word for "I looked fine at the beginning of the evening but all my eyeliner has since run off my eyes in tiny rivers of sweat, pooling in the huge bags beneath my eyes which explains why people keep joking about zombie raccoons and giggling."
Seriously. Do you just stop wearing makeup in the summer? Every single time I've attended some sort of professional event at which it seems remotely important to look kind of like a capital-g Grownup, I've spent the evening making sparkly, witty, charming conversation only to glance in the mirror toward the end of the night and realize this whole time I've looked like the Undead. And not in a sexy way.
Slight tangent: A billion years ago (well, like 10) I was in this magical poetry class with the Amazing
Dan Beachy-Quick (who we lovingly called DBQ) and the whole class basically fell in love with each other. Or itself, as a collective. Either way, we decided we really wanted to get a bus and drive around the country writing poetry and hanging poems in random bathroom stalls and chalking it on sidewalks and Spreading the Gospel of DBQ. But in order to fund our Poetry Bus, we would need some cash. So one of the ongoing projects became thinking of Million Dollar Ideas to fund our Poetry Bus (which in my mind always looked a lot like that of
The Electric Mayhem -- I mean OBVIOUSLY. What else would a poetry bus look like??) and our ongoing Cross Country Poetry Bus Adventures.
End tangent; begin segue.
So here's my latest million dollar idea. (Listen up, Makeup Industry!)
I need a little tiny box of Q-tip type swab thingies to carry around in my purse. But not just any Q-tips; I need Q-tips that have been premoistened with whatever magical solution is in Almay's magical eye makeup remover pads.
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Just kidding, not that Q-Tip.
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BEST PRODUCT EVER.Seriously. You would buy that, wouldn't you? I know I would. I would carry those little almay-tipped-darts around with me and offer them to every summer-smudged sad-eyed woman in every public bathroom across America. I would be like the Robin Hood of gross summer zombie eyes, taking from my purse and giving to the Raccoon Faces.
And I would ride my Electric Mayhem Poetry Bus to National Hero Town.
Bare Escentuals On The Spot
Andrea Eye Q's Make-Up Correctors Swabs
