There I was, thinking how clever I was using the department store's Tester Product of the ridiculously expensive skincare serum that promises so much, and costs a darn sight more. I'm right in the target demographic (25-65 year old females), I've long longed for it, but have never been able to afford it. Not at around $AUD250 for about 50ml.
So here I am, planning on saving myself some money by using the store's supply instead- albeit only enough for one spot, on one day...and kid myself I could save my skin one section at a time.
Perhaps I should have invested more time in planning.
At the very least I should have paid more attention to which way the little nozzle was facing before I squirted.
Did it go into my waiting hand? No.
Did it make it anywhere near the skin in question? No.
Instead, a decent dose of expensive serum landed squarely on my shirt, in the general vicinity of my mammary gland. To be totally and embarrassingly honest, I found myself doing my best impression of a lactating lady; well and truly wasting about $10 of said serum in the process.
Multi-skilled mother that I am, I simultaneously swiped at the affront to my front, whilst looking around to see who had witnessed my misfire. Happily, it was one of those days where staff was in short supply (as opposed to being accosted by many the minute you set foot in the door), and other customers were fairly sparse as well.
Nevertheless, I was left red-faced and wet-chested as I quickly but casually made my way away from the cosmetics counter, and back to my car, fighting the urge to cross my arms or hold my handbag up as a shield of sorts. Or something not so casual as that.
Now, I'm not saying anything against lactating mothers. Heaven knows I've been there / done that / had the milk stains to prove it. It's just that a decade down the road, I don't have the luck or the luxury of a screaming infant in a stroller to justify the look. And quite frankly, looks were what I was trying to avoid right about now.
Since I was shortly due to go into a new school and teach a group of children I had not yet met, I thought it best to detour via my house and change my shirt before I went. Kids in classrooms don't need much to distract them at the best of times, let alone a substitute teacher with stains right at eye level...
So, sad to say, I still don't own the aforementioned miracle serum; my skin didn't even get a one-time treatment for free.
And my so-called clever, economical idea cost me time, effort, and no chance at all to save face.