I got on the train one morning several weeks ago and settled myself in for the train ride into Boston.
I was on a double decker train in a seat for one, perfect for writing or sleeping, the latter of which I do in the mornings I leave early.
A woman (I think she was a woman) with incredibly confusing blonde hair sat in front of me reeking to the high heavens of a cologne that almost made me gag.
Eau de Litter Box, perhaps?
All I could think of was the feeling I get when I walk in to Bath & Body Works at the mall; a total devastation of the olfactory senses to the point of nausea.
Anyway, this woman proceeds to flog the ever-loving shit out of her hair, cooties, dandruff and dead hair flying everywhere as I sat there taking it like a man, too tired to move to another seat.
That wasn’t quite enough though. She pulls out her compact and begins to violently swab her face to beat the band with the finesse one would use to scrub a dirty truck bumper.
I don’t scrub my ass that hard in the shower, for God’s sakes.
This went on for twenty or so minutes and it was disturbing, to say the very least.
The lips took at least half of the twenty minutes ending with that yucky “schmupp” sound.
I’m thinking Blondezilla must be an absolute vision when she’s finally done primping and packing her fat little face.
Sometime shortly after the “schmupp”, I fell fast asleep.
Thank God for small miracles.
Later that day, I thought about my wife, a minimalist when it comes down to makeup; less is more, period.
She’ll argue with me until JFK comes back from the dead but when she’s done up for an evening out (a rare event these days, sadly) she IS a vision.
Her face is just beautiful.
A few mornings ago I got out of the shower and dried off before opening the medicine cabinet for a Q-tip.
I saw a small innocuous looking package and I could swear it read “FaceSpackle”.
Now I looked up “spackling compound” on the web and found this: A white pre-mixed compound or powder to which water is added for use in mending cracks in plaster, holes in sheetrock walls, skimming old wallpaper seams, should be sanded smooth and flat after drying
This was disturbing.
Dear God, please not my wife.
I put my glasses on and saw that the writing didn’t say anything close to what I thought it said.
It was some kind of newfangled facial exfoliant from Origins.
As a man, I have a difficult time understanding all these exotic things women use on their face.
But my wife has taught my daughters well though; easy on the rouge, light on the eyeliner, gently shadow the lips.
Whenever one of them wears makeup they look like women, very pretty women. What happened to my little girls, I’ll never know.
If they continue to take their mother’s advice, the future years will treat them kindly.
As the train pulled into Boston that morning, Blondzilla got up and made her way to the exit.
Lord have mercy, I think she used to do makeup for Bozo the Clown . . . Ringling Brothers at the very least.
And if she happens to read this?
I’m getting my ass kicked some unsuspecting morning.
I think I’m safe . . .