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Urban Decay

August 2, 2018

 

How did I end up at the mall?”

 

This was the thought running through my head yesterday as I followed Jaimie into Sephora. I can’t remember the last time I was at the mall without a purpose. Occasionally I find myself in need of outfit, and I go to the mall for that. But those trips are highly coordinated events. I am in and out with surgical precision. 

 

Surgical precision, and a stop at Spencer’s. Because that place is perfect. 

 

This trip was different. Jaimie needed something and I said I would go with her. As the words left my mouth my brain was like, “Who am I?” 

 

We got there at lunchtime. We shared a three item combination from one of the generic Chinese places. It was the one that had the best free sample chicken, so that’s where we ate. 

 

Back in my stand up days I used to do a gig in San Antonio, and the club was at the mall. In an effort to save money I would get there before the show and do a couple of laps around food court. After the seventh piece of chicken-on-a-toothpick, I figured I was at half a thigh. By that point I just had to buy a little side salad to make my dinner complete, and that is why you should never let your children be artists.

 

After lunch Jaimie and I walked into Sephora. That was the location of the thing she needed. Upon entering a woman asked Jaimie if she needed a basket. She said, “No,” and I said, “Thank you Jesus.” Money goes fast in Sephora, and the fact that she didn’t need a basket let me know that she wasn’t there to browse. While you can still fit some expensive items into two little hands, it’s not nearly as many as she could fit into a basket. Physics was on my side. 

 

As she looked for what she needed, I noticed the names of the makeup brands. They are so dramatic. 

 

Tarte. Too Faced. Urban Decay. 

 

Is that the message they are trying to sell? 

 

Want to feel promiscuous, dishonest, and leave destruction in your wake? Have we got the eye shadow for you!

 

Even the colors had crazy names. 

 

Guilt Trip, Hell Ride, Double Life. 

 

Me: Hey baby, I like that blush. What color is that?

 

Jaimie: Rip Your Soul Out.

 

Me: Lovely.

  

Jaimie: What do you think about this lip stick? It’s called You’re Going to Need a Therapist.

 

Me: It looks how it sounds. 

 

End of play.

 

It’s so crazy the things women do to look attractive. Especially considering that men expect a hand job every time they iron. 

 

Dude: Got a big date tonight.

 

Other Dude: What are you wearing?

 

Dude: A shirt with  collar.

 

Other Dude: What! You better get laid for real. 

 

End of play. 

 

She found her one item. I was escaping relatively unscathed. She did do a loop around, just in case. I felt like a Tim Robbins in Shawshank Redemption while the prison guards were doing evening inspections. “Just stay calm, maybe she won’t find anything.” 

 

She didn’t find anything. My tunnel to freedom was safe. Even though when she’s around, there’s no where else I want to go.  I’d go to the ends of the earth for Jaimie. As evidenced by my trip to the mall. 

 

Unless, of course, she had picked up that basket. That would have been a different story.  

 

Then I would have done my best Andy Dufresne impression, and swum through shit to get out. 

 

 

 

 

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