Observations on Mascara, most of which make me appear undisciplined and shallow.

Well, certainly lost any male readers with that title, didn't I? (I jest, internet, you know the only male that reads this blog is my husband, and that only because he's desperately trying to figure out what makes his crazy wife tick, and hoping against hope that it doesn't mean I'm a walking time bomb...).

I have a total lack of control where mascara is involved. This is odd, as I've never been much of a makeup person. I was NOT one of those little girls who could hardly wait until her mother allowed her the privilege of Wearing Makeup. At least I don't think I was. I remember playing with toy makeup when I was little, but I don't think it has ever been that big of a deal to me - in fact if anything, I still feel a little like I'm playing "pretend" when I wear it now, even at my Advanced Age. It seems that there's just something about a slender tube filled with a brush and black stuff that beckons to me and I seem to be powerless to resist. In fact, I got a brand new one just last week:
It was to replace this one:

Replace is probably not the right choice of word. It implies that I didn't care for the fantastic lash. That isn't true. It just wasn't the new one anymore. You see, purchase of mascara, for me, does not in any way guarantee usage of the product beyond the first week or two. It's more like, "come stay at my house and rest comfortably in my makeup drawer. There will be lots of other friends for you to chat with, because I don't really use them, either!"

I don't really understand my susceptibility to the Lure of the Lash. I can resist the temptation of the Perfectly Pink Pout, the shy attraction of the Beautiful Blush, the somewhat temperamental promise of Flawless Skin (this one being entirely too dependent upon choice of color, and of too many instances ranging from Looking Like A Ghost (too light) to Swarthy Is The New Orange (too...colorful) to Saw The Ghost And It Waved At Me (ashen grey is not a desirable look, apparently) thereby discouraging additional experimentation in this area due to financial restraints). I guess that ease of color choice is the main draw. My eyelashes are black+ mascara comes in black+ it makes my black eyelashes better = Must Have More.

Once the shiny new tube is safely home with me the battle begins:

1. Will it make me look like the beautiful girl in the poster who batted her incredibly long, incredibly curvy, incredibly gorgeous eyelashes at my lack of self-control in order to get me to put the tube in my shopping basket?
2. Will it truly be "easy to apply?" and when I say "easy to apply" I really mean, "how hard will it be to rid my skin of the blotches and blobs of black that inevitably adorn my eyelids, undereyes, tear ducts, and occasionally (on very jerky days where my hands seem to be independent of fine motor control) on the whites of my eyes (which triggers a larger, more whole-body approach the the jerk, and distributes black to various areas of nose and forehead, and possibly the bathroom floor).
3. Will it be clump free? (because truly, having it look like you have one very wide, solid eyelash on each upper lid is not a look I find at all attractive, and I have seen this often enough to have proof that it does nothing to enhance my beauty in any way, shape or form; and the variation of having four lumpy bumpy lashes on each lid really just makes me feel that a spider that got stuck in tar and then curiously divided and affixed to my upper lids WILL have its revenge, if it hasn't already)
4. Will it be WATERPROOF? This is a very important item, because I have found that the likelihood of me shedding tears is directly related (exponentially, I'm afraid) to whether or not I'm wearing mascara and the degree of moisture resistance contained in said product.
5. Will it be worth the effort of putting it on? The answer to this, sadly, is almost always No. Sooner or later, the effort will outweigh the positives of application, and the Not Quite So Shiny tube will move a little further back in the makeup drawer as I rustle around looking for hormone-induced necessities such as cover up and powder. But it's okay. I know it's there if I need it. I know it has a good, safe, resting spot. I know it won't be lonely.

I'll make sure of it.