This we know to be true: Last weekend was not kind to my fingernails. They endured all manner of horrifying chipping that left me on Monday, quite frankly, totally ashamed of my hands for the first time in my life.
Consider that issue addressed.
An issue that’s not been addressed?
I’m not sure if it’s the mascara I bought last week, the fact that running after work seems to heat-seal whatever amount of make-up remains on my person to my face, or the fact that I think the skin underneath my eyes is allergic to sweating. But that skin underneath my eyes? Not sexy. Unless you’re into elephant skin.
See, I’m painfully minimalist when it comes to skin-care routines. My body is a perfect environment. But this. This. THIS. I am simply at a loss as to what one does in this sort of situation.
I’ve sworn off eyeliner since Saturday, which I think gives me a really effortless “beach-y natural” look, composed of blush, bronzer, eye shadow and one blink’s worth of mascara.
What the rest of the world sees: A girl who is in a bad, bad place.
Operation: Face Lotion has begun.
On the bright side, since I had the day off yesterday, after all of our errands-running and re-settling in, I finally got to go and watch Marcus’ kickball team, Blue Steel play.
I wish I could say that the game was riveting, but this is what happened instead…
I’m just going to throw this out there, and y’all can throw it back…But I truly did not envision my first chihuahua-toting experience as being perched on-top of a cooler, sans-makeup clutching a Miller Lite in a baseball glove turned makeshift-can coozie.
I mean, at least I was wearing pink, but that’s just not how I saw it all playing out.