Me: The restrooms here are FABULOUS
Husband: Is that why you stayed in there for so long?
Okay I don’t blame him. My poor three men have to wait for me everywhere, because it is well known that women take longer than men in the restroom. Biologically-driven logistics aside, there are always too few stalls in the ladies’ loo. Actually it’s precisely because the biologically-driven logistics are set aside by the (I’m convinced) men who plan these facilities that there exists this appalling lavatory lacuna.
But don’t worry. Water closet woes are not the focus of this post.
My husband and I were at the Ion Orchard this morning because I needed to buy some stuff at Sephora. I have a love-hate relationship with that place. Love because they have so many great products, and hate because they refused to extend the validity of a voucher for me when I missed the deadline because I was travelling. My natural magnanimity made me forgive them today. That and the fact that I dropped my MAC compact a few days ago and all the powder burst out of it.
Yes I know. Have been wearing black since then. Sob.
So anyway, restrooms were gorgeous, and Sephora today was all about the looove. The MAC counter had run out of the powder in my colour. The salesgirl suggested I go to Ngee Ann City, where there is another outlet. Husband was all ready to leave. But I stopped him. Like the GPS in my car does when I don’t go the way it has ordered, I mouthed the word: “Recalculating”. I was in the mother of all makeup stores after all. If I couldn’t find an alternative to MAC in Sephora then the hate would really flow. I found another salesgirl and pounced, ruthlessly ignoring her deer-caught-in-the-headlights look as I asked about other brands.
“I’m not an expert. He is.” And she gratefully dragged a colleague towards me. He looked a little bemused. It was pretty early and they are probably not used to having to deal with hyper customers (who ask a lot of questions and can talk the hind legs off a donkey) till at least noon.
Luckily her glowing recommendation turned out to be absolutely true. He tried out different concealers and powders on my face, chatted with me about the size of my pores (sigh. The way he described them you’d think he was afraid he was in danger of falling into them), and – horrors – told me my breakouts were probably due to hormonal changes because his MOTHER was going through the same thing.
I forgave him because he was absolutely right about the colours that matched my skin. And because I found this great spray-on lotion that apparently fixes makeup on your face so that it doesn’t slide off when you sweat, or transfer to the shirt of the husband you want to hug (your OWN, missy).
So proud of my man. He sat there sweetly waiting for me, not a word of complaint, offering advice only when I asked for it and not rushing me even once. I think I have the BlackBerry to thank for that because it kept him occupied.
Me: It’s taken 20 years but I think I’ve finally trained you to be the perfect shopping companion.
Him: I feel like I’ve let my tribe down.
Whatever. Got what I wanted. Happy dance 🙂