The Mall

Recently, my daughter and I were strolling through a large department store on our way to check out the supposed 90%-off sale at Williams Sonoma. While checking out some cute mini-dresses, a woman from the Estee Lauder counter approached us about some sales promotion involving a free 10-day supply of foundation and handed me a card I was supposed to bring to their counter in exchange. First of all, I'm not really a fan of Estee Lauder. I've always thought of it as something my grandma would wear, and I'm more of a Bobbi Brown girl, myself. So, anyway, in an attempt to avoid the stampede of shoppers down the main aisle of the store, and thus the EL counter, I lingered along the outskirts. That was, until our eyes met. The make-up counter lady was staring right at me, waving me over. I could feel the lasso tightening around my neck. Had I just remained hidden amongst the cattle, I likely would have made it through unseen, but here I was, a lost calf who'd strayed from the herd. As she roped me in, she asked me for the card she had handed me earlier, my skin type, type of foundation I wore, how many times a day I applied moisturizer, my bloodtype, my shoe size, and if I had any allergies related to polycarbonate resin. Confused, I was now firmly planted atop a make-over stool, watching another white-coated woman apply shimmery pink lip gloss on my 2-year old.

"Cassandra" wiped off my "old" make-up and proceeded to apply a toner, a moisturizer, a primer, a concealer, a layer of nude paint, some polyurethane, and a top coat. "There!" She exclaimed. "Doesn't it feel so light? It's like you're wearing nothing at all!" I looked in the hand mirror, and to my surprise, I actually liked my new paint-job, not a blemish to be seen. So, of course, I agreed when she offered to try out some new eye-shadow options on me. I had the choice of a "safe" rosy beige duo or an "urban" metallic quad. I chose the quad, what the hell, right? Who doesn't long for that smokey-eyed look?

After applying four layers of shadow, some charcoal eyeliner, and what seemed like the amount of mascara Elvira might wear, she was done. I looked in the mirror again, and as the group of Estee Lauder ladies ooh'd and aahh'd at how nicely I can pull off the "metallic look" with my deep-set eyes, I noticed the train-tracks of mascara across my brow bone, globs of liner between my eyes and the bridge of my nose, and speckles of shiny, olive-green shadow on my cheeks, and couldn't help but think I reminded myself of that loner, goth-chick in high school. Needless to say, I didn't buy any makeup and unfortunately had to wear the makeup I had on for the duration of my mall trip (since, being the nice person I am, I had to pass back through the department store to get to my car.)

Soon, I was the loner, goth-mom sitting by myself at the indoor, toddler playground, while the other moms whispered, "stay close to mommy" to their children, and looked on with pitiful eyes toward my daughter. Williams Sonoma was more of the same. The sales ladies stared , as they wondered what someone "like her" would be doing in their store, and kept asking my daughter if she was "okay." (It didn't help that she had an egg-sized bump on her forhead from an incident at the playground a day earlier.) Since the only thing left in the 90%-off section was a bunch of boxes peppermint bark and gourmet marshmellows, it didn't bother me so much that I felt ushered out of the store only slower than if I had been wearing a long black trench coat in 90-degree heat.

Moral of the story: when going to the mall, park at the food court.