Monday, October 3, 2011
This morning I'm sitting in Starbucks nursing a steaming hot grande cup of awake when I am approached by a dapper looking young early-thiry-ish man in a suit. He has just rushed in the door, but does not head towards the counter to place his order. Instead, he sits down directly across from me on the edge of the nice large cushy leather chair, leans forward towards me conspiratorially and says...
"I was wondering whether you had a little face powder that I could borrow? I ran out of the house this morning and forgot to put mine on." (this is said while he is stroking his face in a manner, which I suspect is supposed to have me notice his uneven skin tone)
The way I see it, shouldn't every meterosexual male who is worth his salt carry his own personal pressed powder compact? Sadly, I had none to lend. Not a face powder kind of girl (which he would have surely noticed if he had take a second to look at the uneven skin tone of the person that he was addressing).
And, for what it's worth, we didn't even have the same skin tone.