I find it scary how some women, on any non-wedding, non-red-carpet-event, non-Halloween, just an ordinary old day, would find the need to heap on so much make-up — so, so much make-up, maybe about two tonnes? — that it looks like an entire separate entity on its own. Oh, sorry, I exaggerated. Probably only one tonne and a half! One glance at their face and I kind of expect the inch-thick caked up layers of pigment — completed with rope-like fake lashes — to leap out of their temporary resident, jump over and start chewing up my own head, occasionally fishing out the compact mirror to check for smudges.
Whatever happened to subtlety, ladies? Less is more. Haven’t you heard?
And don’t get me started on the ones with beautiful natural skin, skin as smooth as a baby’s bum, skin that a mosquito, upon landing, could easily ice-skate on, yet who would still go to painful measures to slap on this frightening mask. Why? I look up to the sky and ask. WHY?