There are few places as intimidating to me as the makeup counter. Yes, I am aware of how ridiculous this sounds. But women like me can’t just go to Walgreens & pick out a shade that you think “looks about right” because then you apply a foundation that is two shades darker than your neck & it looks like you’re wearing a mask. And it’s not because you didn’t blend it. And I need a sweat-proof, waterproof, not-coming-off-unless-you-use-a-brillo-pad makeup line.

So, that being said, I find myself at the department store makeup counters with the semi-snotty, perfect hair, impeccable makeup, & lab coated models. I beg for their assistance with my clumped mascara & poorly applied eyeliner.

They are always eager to come to my rescue.

The following is an account of last night’s session at Belk.

I beeline straight to Clinique for my foaming face wash that I’ve been out of for some time now. I keep thinking I can find a better makeup remover for cheaper.

I cannot.

I see one girl working the entire cosmetics department, currently assisting a man at fragrances, so I think I will settle in.

What ever happened to those fun springy chairs? This one is all hard and has no bounce. I’d rather stand than partake in this molded-to-look-like-a-chair-but-is-actually-a-rock-in-disquise furniture.

I circle the counter like a shark, eyeing a blonde with a ponytail in yoga pants pushing her toddler around but still is managing to look trendier than me.

The associate from perfumes breaks free & goes to help her. She was at Estee Lauder before me, so it’s okay. I wait patiently, looking at the pink stuff for Breast Cancer Awareness month (who is NOT AWARE?!?) & this tote bag that I thought was cute when I first walked up but on closer inspection is uglier than homemade sin.

Another lab coat approaches. She joins the first in assisting the blonde with the toddler. 1st lab coat comes to me. I tell her what I need, sounding like an authority on the subject. You have to, or they’ll talk you into a whole ‘nother skincare line & you’ll spend $400.

Trust me.

I pay & walk ten steps to Estee Lauder. Lab Coat Two barely glances my direction. Lab Coat One that I just departed from has decided I am invisible since Lab Coat Two is back at her post.

I eye the potions warily. I remember my last visit, getting roped into the teeny tiny miniscule bottle of wrinkle serum to the tune of $68. Not again, my friends.

Their chair is padded, but looks like they’ve been trying to darken it with foundation. Maybe they should take it to the tanning bed. I wander around the counter. Not much to see. It’s gift time. Great. I’ll have to make a decision on which “pallete” I want. This gives me an ulcer. I look at all the new red clothes displayed for fall. They look like Indian rugs with the tassels & wild prints. I get closer. Hmm, this sweater isn’t too bad. Oh, here come people, I better get back over here or I’ll lose my place in line.

Blonde in ponytail is still seeking council. Toddler is not screaming. This place is weird.

“Thank you for being so patient,” Lab Coat Two tells me.

“No problem,” I answer, scrolling through Instagram.

“I’ll sweeten your deal,” she says with a wink as she grabs a tissue.

“You’re fine, take your time,” I assure her, wishing I was anywhere but here. Like this waterfall in Northern California…or eating this praline on River Street. Why do I follow these people who live where I want to stay? Why do I do it to myself?

I put my phone away & pretend to be interested in lipsticks. I pull out the rolling tray of samples.

Lab Coat One approaches like she’s never seen me before, although I am still holding my bag from ten minutes prior, & we had a conversation about make-up removal variations. I must have looked like I was fixing to stick my un-sanitized finger in a pot of miracle goo.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I need to get the double wear in Fresco,” I say, once again sounding like an expert. But oh…I need powder too…and I’ve never bought theirs. It’s not on my card. “I also need to get some powder. I prefer the loose.” Because the pressed makes me feel like I’m messing everything up. The loose makes me feel like Marilyn Monroe.

She’s dusting it on her hand over the base. She tries three different ones, surreptitiously glancing at me between applications, before I save her. “I’m really pale, it’s probably the lightest one.”

She visibly exhales. “I thought so.”

By now, Lab Coat Two has sent Blonde With a Toddler on her way & is ringing me up. “Sorry you had to wait so long,” she apologizes again.

“It’s really okay,” I assure her again.

“Which pallete did you want to try? The neutral or the pinks?”

“Uhhhh…” How did I manage to forget she was going to ask me this. WHY did I spend my time looking at ugly sweaters & beautiful houses in New Orleans? I should have been pondering this life altering decision. And why can’t they decide FOR me? That’s why I come here, so I won’t screw up.

“Pinks,” I answer. Her lips move like I picked the wrong one but she didn’t say anything.

“And which age-defying? The revitalizing or the resilience?”

I’m sure this was met with a blank look crossed with deer in the headlights.

“Lifting is the better deal,” she leans forward & says conspiring tone.

“Okay,” I whisper back, afraid of the people we cannot see. And wondering which “R” word meant lifting. It is a synonym not in my repertoire.

“And let me get you something for being so patient,” she adds, moving to the drawer of wonder. “What do you like? Lipsticks? Eyeshadows?”

“Oh, just whatever. You really don’t have to do that,”

She’s digging through assorted bottles & giving me a quick look. “What color do you wear?”

I dig out my favorite lipstick & tell her the name. She takes it from me & finds nothing similar, but a “nice accompaniment” in shadow. OK, great, lady, get me out of here, my head is about to explode.

I breathe a sigh of relief when I get outside but then my nostrils fill with the scent of polecat. It is almost favorable over the assaulting perfumes from inside.

Why do some men think women have it made? There is no such thing as natural beauty. Dolly Parton says so. I was in there for twenty minutes & it felt like a ten year prison sentence.