So Boyfriend was on at me this weekend again about wearing make-up while we were getting ice cream at the beach. He's of the opinion – which in principle at least I share – that less is more when it comes to the old slap. The difference in our views is about what constitutes less, and what constitutes nothing – or, as I like to call it, 'Are you kidding? I can't leave the house like that!'
Don't get me wrong, I'm not a cake face and I don't do raccoon eyes to run down to the shops. I swear, I pretty much wear the bare minimum every day: a tiny bit of concealer and some mascara is about as much time as I have. Nights out are different of course, but even Boyfriend concedes I be allowed to vamp it up to paint the town red. But during the day, he wishes I'd just ditch the whole lot.
His argument, of course, is faultless: He thinks I'm beautiful without it. I don't need it.
Tempting.
But why then, at gym one morning, did the Bunny, who probably hadn't seen me without mascara since our second year of high school (the morning after a night out when I'm wearing it on my cheeks doesn't count), say, 'You look kind of weird. What's wrong with your eyes?'
Why then, when I forego this minimal makeup for work, do people immediately ask if I didn't get much sleep?
Why then, when for the first time in ages I wore eye shadow and eyeliner and lipgloss to the office today, did the lovely Miss Meeson comment on how 'pretty' I looked.
Because I look lovely every other day?
I think not.
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