There are worse things she could have said. Like, as we
wither with age, or as our
skin falls from our bones. She chose, as we
mature.
It was a full moon, the week before my feminine cycle, mid-February in Canada, and I was grocery shopping. Need I go on? I left the house and didn’t put make-up on my pasty broke-out face, figuring a little oxygen might put a color other than white in it. I decided against a toque or a ball-cap to hide my, growing-out-stage hair, because I look more masculine with, than without, and opted for the comfort of my sweat pants rather than cold, tight jeans.
Resisting caffeine for the past few days, I gave in and stopped for a cup to accompany me on the shopping trip as well as provide much needed warmth, and a necessary caffeine pick-me-up.
Before groceries I decided to head for a little retail therapy in the clothing section. Minding my own business, hot java in hand, perusing colorful t-shirts, hoping for a glimpse of spring, I eyed a woman with perfect hair and a perfectly put together professional outfit. I swore at her - in my head - and wished for her hair, at least for the day.
She began to poke through the clothing rack next me. I lowered my head and turned the other way. She approached me. I screamed - in my head.
“I eyed your red bag from across the store. It’s fantastic!”
“Thanks.” I smiled wishing for the dehydrated lines on my face to disappear along with the breakouts on my left cheek and chin. Her skin was perfectly even in color, not dry or greasy. Perfect with her perfect hair and her perfect little outfit. She was even a perfect height. Not too short. Not too tall.
She was the last stop at the 3 little bears house! Only I didn't want to stay. I wanted to keep on going.
“It’s Tester Tuesday and I thought you might be interested…”
That’s it! She’s in sales.
“…in a new product we have now. It’s our new mircodermabrasion line.”
Great – she also sees my wrinkles. She went on.
“Often times we are trying to moisturize over all ready dead skin.”
She said dead.
“It just doesn’t penetrate where we need it. You know, as we…” she paused, “mature…”
There it is! I could feel the heat rise from my neck, blood pooling to the surface of my cheeks. Could she see I was visibly embarrassed? Could she tell I wanted to pull my hoody up over my head and disappear? If she could she would have handed me the sample and left. She went on.
“We begin to see our pores open up.”
OMG, can she see the pores on my nose? I tried to close them this morning with cold water.
“This product will help tighten pores, slough off dead…”
There’s that word again.
“…skin and leave you glowing.”
Trying to get out of this situation as quickly as possible, I jokingly said, “Well we all need to glow a little don’t we?” I could tell I was already a good match for the red bag I carried.
She went on about how you can use it before a special night to give you an ‘advantage’. How you can use it 2-3 times per week depending on how bad of a week you were having.
She was a predator! She saw I was having a down day, and she preyed on me. She filled my head with promises of tight moisturized glowing skin. The worst part? The most dreadful part! Not that I accepted the sample – c’mon I had to try it. But, I gave her my name, engaged her in a more lengthy conversation about jobs, children and schooling. Why didn’t I tell her, she embarrassed me? Why didn’t I say, oh I knew this was a sales call, can’t you see I’m shopping?
I’m using the sample. I haven’t ‘glowed’ yet. I’m waiting. I’m also waiting her follow-up call. When she’ll ask me if I enjoyed the sample and if I would like to host a party for my friends.
