A non-teachable moment.

I do nothing right, and it turns out okay.

I decided the other day to take an interest in what’s become of my physical appearance. I was inspired by some recent photos of me that scream crack granny mugshot.

I went to Ulta to buy some new makeup. Apparently if you use the same makeup for six years, as I have, it is crawling with bacteria, which explains what I thought was a bad case of adult acne. I went in search of the five make-up items I use.

1.       Undereye concealer

2.       Blush

3.       Eyeshadow in a boring neutral color

4.       Mascara

5.       Eyebrow pencil

I got everything in record time without anyone’s help, using proximity to the store entrance and gut impulse, but was flummoxed when it came to the eyebrow pencil. I wanted something simple, a true pencil, not a brush or pen, and I wanted black, or as the pricey brands call it, noir.

A salesperson approached me, and I told her what I was looking for. She shook her head.  “Trust me, you don’t want black.”

“I had black eyebrows,” I told her. “My natural hair is very dark. I mean, what’s going on with my hair now is a relatively new situation.”

“Now, you have light skin and light hair. You need a light pencil.”

“But my eyebrows are still basically dark if you ignore the bald patches and white hairs.”

“A black pencil will look cartoonish on you,” she said, her eyes fervent beneath her own brows, which she’d bleached to alarming shade of saffron. “Go with the dark brown.”

Was she serious?  Talk about the pot calling the kettle cartoonish!  

“But I’ve always gotten black,” I whined.

“Was your hair always this color?” she asked.

She had a point, though she was clearly not someone I should be turning to for brow advice. But me being me, I got the brown pencil, and turns out she was right.

I know! I was also disappointed there is no noble life lesson, or ending that makes for compelling storytelling, but I have to say the eyebrow pencil is great.