Another bubble burst

I remember when I discovered Santa Claus wasn’t real.

I wrote a super diplomatic letter saying that I’d heard from kids in school that he wasn’t real, and I wasn’t saying he didn’t don’t get me wrong, I’ve been super good and I really want those strawberry shortcake dolls but… well, could he just kindof tell me if it was true and I even used the words “no offense.” Not bad eh! Then along with my prezzies I got a note from Santa Mom and Santa Dad. Cool. I got presents. I was now a bit more worldly. I was a big kid.

Yesterday I realized I’ve hit another one of those coming of age milestones. I discovered as I wandered through the make up aisles of El Amal drugstore that I don’t believe in make up anymore.

It used to be if I was feeling shitty, which I certainly was yesterday, I could just go shop, even if it was Rite Aid at midnight and my check was going to bounce. And I would get some makeup and play dress up and it would all feel much better. What lipstick couldn’t cure, chocolate would appease.

But no such luck. Makeup is fun, but my lashes will never look that long, my lips just aren’t that plump, staying up all night writing results in bags under my eyes that won’t go away with green tinged concealer, my foundation will not stay all day through tropical weather and 12 hours on campus. The longer nail polish claims to stay, the quicker it seems to chip. Eye shadow is simply NOT moisturizing. Unless I pay 30 dollars, foundation doesn’t match my brown skin. Creams feel yummy but I don’t see the instant repair.

This may seem like common sense but nonetheless there was always a part of me that had this hope that the perfect product was out there. Nope. It isn’t. And frankly, if it is, I am unable or unwilling to pay for it when a regular lipstick is $12.00!

It may be common sense but it is also a tiny bit sad. Another fairy tale squished.

I don’t believe in sugar free candy which does not have a “mild laxative effect” which gives me stomach cramps.

I don’t believe in a swimsuit that elongates my torso, slims my hips, minimizes any “unsightly” bulges and gives me luxurious cleveage. I don’t care what the magazines say.

I don’t believe in pantyhose that won’t run.

I don’t believe in anti-frizz products unless I’m going for a greased up look (in which case, coconut oil is great for hair and cheaper).

I don’t believe in the latest tummy tucking panties they are selling that come complete with a “lubricating gel” to put them on. If I need lubricating gel for something it better be something reaaaaaaallly pleasurable and not something that makes my ribs brush against my kidneys. And alternately, if I am interested in that look, corsetting is much sexier and no less uncomfortable.

I don’t believe in putting up Christmas decorations before November has even had a chance to settle in. I don’t believe in Christmas charols before thanksgiving!!!

Does this mean I’m an adult? I should ask the Easter bunny.

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1 Comment »

  1. Yalitza Said:

    This just means that you are one of the bien poquitas normal persons that are left in this island.


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