Saving Face

Sometimes being economical can come at great cost.

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.

Jx

©2013

All White Now

There’s a running joke in the family: if you ever wanted to look like you had a tan, you simply stand next to me. Yes it's true, I could make even Frosty the Snowman take on a healthy glow. And you certainly don’t need any reminder about slipping on the sunnies when I’m around- the glare alone has been known to put dogs and small children into a hypnotic state. (Just ask my daughter’s teacher the day I helped out on an excursion to the lake one sunny day…)

So it was with some trepidation I recently read the weather forecast to see that not only had Spring sprung, but it was bringing advance notice of Summertime with it.

I don’t know about where you live, but here, as soon as there’s even a hint of the temperature hitting 20 degrees (celsius for those not using the same scale, which is roughly 70+ degrees fahrenheit), out come the shorts and sundresses; and by default, so do any body parts that otherwise go undercover in colder climes.

It’s a time of year I dread, because there comes a time when it’s so hot one has run out of excuses and must simply dare to bare. (Either that, or convert to one of those religions that requires complete coverage all year round, and I just don’t know how that’d go down with my mother.)

And so I face the annual dilemma of what not to wear.

My preference is still for longer skirts or those maxi-dresses, they’re cool, comfy, with good coverage. But take it from me, pick the wrong print and you’ll have little kids lining up behind you wondering when tickets go on sale for the circus.

As an alternative, three-quarter pants are also pretty safe, unless you’re somewhere around my height and instead of lengthening the body, they make you look like you’re auditioning for a role as one of the dwarves (I always maintained I could be all seven at the same time, provided their names were: Stumpy, Lumpy, Bumpy, Frumpy, Dumpy, Jumpy, and let’s not forget Grumpy)!

But I still have to ensure that I slather sunscreen on any flesh that may be exposed as a result, ‘cause with my skin tone I only have two shades– blinding white or lobster red. And after a few disastrous attempts at the home self-tan job (seriously, the bathroom vanity got a better tan than I did), I have resigned myself to having the same alabaster complexion as Nicole Kidman (only I don’t share the smooth forehead as she, for some reason).

At my previous place of employment I could always tell when Summer had begun, by the streaks of fake tan on the toilet seat. At least I hope it was fake tan.

Anyway, there we were at school the other morning, doing the drop-off routine with the kids, when we couldn’t help but notice the student-teacher sashay through the playground…followed by the eyes of not only all the mothers, but the fathers too. When she stopped alongside the class she had been assigned that day, the odds of the teacher up front of the assembly keeping the attention of those 6th grade boys were a helluva lot longer than the skirt this other one had chosen to wear.

I’m sure you can imagine the kind of comments that were being passed around the schoolyard; suffice to say that she didn’t get a glowing report card from a large number of onlookers.

So there I was, standing with the usual suspects as we observed the whole thing from the safety of the back row. And with utter glee akin to the kindergartners in the crowd, I noticed that whoever had helped that intern out had done a dodgy job in the fake-tan danger-zone leaving the front of her knees a peculiar shade of orange, and the backs a brilliant white, almost enough to rival what was poking out my trouser legs.

OK so small things amuse small minds, but I’ve gotta say those two little white patches gave us a mighty big laugh. And for once it wasn’t my legs causing the mirth. But with summer coming, I guess the last laugh will most likely be on me.

Jx
©2009