I love it when my morning commute writes my blog for me.
The scene: train delay, up and down the Blue and Orange Lines. Squashed commuters, doofy tourists, garbled announcements, and a train lurching its way to Metro Center. I’m standing in the aisle, near one of the precious seat-back-to-ceiling poles (indispensable for short people).
The woman in the seat underneath me is wearing a floral trenchcoat in an arresting shade of post-nuclear green. She overslept and is running late. How do I know this? Because she’s digging through her makeup kit and putting her face on. We’ve all touched up our lipstick or fluffed our hair on the Metro. But, in the course of five stops, I saw her:
- Apply concealer to her under-eye circles and zits
- Sweep highlighter across her forehead and cheekbones
- Dab on a bit of peachy blush
- Yank her eyelids out of the way to scribble on some eyeliner
- Sweep on some Clinique eyeshadow and Great Lash mascara
We came to her stop before she had a chance to put on some lipstick or do up her hair. I hope she was transferring, so she’d have a little more time to finish her toilette.
I left the train feeling skeeved out. She wasn’t clipping her toenails or anything, but I just really didn’t need any insight into her beauty regimen. Some things are better done at home, or in the ladies’ room at your office.
Which brings us to today’s PSA: Women, nobody needs to know how you got to be so pretty. The results should speak for themselves. Nobody needs to see the mascara wand, the blush brush, or the tweezers. A little bit of lipstick or a swoop of powder across the nose? Fine. But if it involves both hands and touching up your eyeliner by the fluorescent light of your BlackBerry? No. Just, no.