So it’s possible I this
tiny thermonuclear meltdown in public earlier this week. It was absolutely not my fault. See, what happened was this: my makeup has been discontinued.
Typically, I keep a backup compact of powder in the drawer so I never run out. This is a terrific system until I realized I ran out of the backup powder. So mortified and bare-faced, I walked into Sephora in the mall. I double checked my color code before I left the house because I’m not making the one-shade-off mistake again.
When I got there, they had rearranged the store. So annoying. I used to know exactly the right corner to grab what I need and go. So as I was roaming the store, looking lost, a helpful salesman offered me assistance. I told him what I needed. He directed me to the proper area.
But the numbers were not right. I thought I’d written down the shade wrong. I called home. Let me tell you, there is nothing that thrills my husband’s soul more than sorting through my makeup bag to find a compact of something to read a number to me.
After that delightful conversation, I realized I did not have the number wrong. My number was just not on the shelf. I asked Helpful Salesman. That’s when he said the worst words ever, “Oh, that’s been discontinued.”
That was the moment, dear readers, when I felt light-headed and the floor started to give way. A company does not just discontinue a woman’s powder. This is a profoundly personal product. After tampons, it doesn’t get more intimate than this.
Also, for the record, my preferred powder brand is Makeup Forever. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. That means until I depart this Earth. Or at least until the zombie apocalypse. Or more realistically, until some other shiny product proves to have better coverage for my aging skin. Obviously, my makeup and I don’t share the same definition of forever.
Helpful Salesman said that he had just packed up what they had left in stock. It was in the back. He could get what was left before it was shipped back in the morning. At this point, I considered French kissing Helpful Salesman on the spot, but decided to wait until he produced any product.
While I was waiting and breaking into a cold sweat, the woman at the register began to talk to me. Really, she began to comfort me. She told me how important makeup is to a woman. She reminded me how attached we become to products. She was gracious and kind.
As she was trying to talk me off the obvious ledge I was balancing on, a thought occurred to me, “I am a spoiled brat with the most ridiculous First World Problem ever.” Sanity began to creep in. Light seeped into my darkness.
Then Helpful Salesman appeared with three compacts of my powder. This is a supply that will last me quite some time. I have plenty of time to prepare for the apocalypse of a new-to-me powder world. It will be difficult to go on through these trial and tribulations. But I am a survivor.