cosmeticslog

Since they're always discontinuing my lipstick of choice as soon as I actually like one enough to categorize it as being of choice, I'm constantly having to experiment with new shades, all of which are promptly taken off the market the second I'm satisfied with one. Recently I stumbled upon L'Oreal's new Endless Kissable™ line, and while long-wearing lipsticks are generally too opaque and waxy for my tastes, I happened upon a shade I fancied and purchased a tube to try out.

Being a spinster, it annoys me that all lipsticks are marketed toward girls who apparently have nothing going on in their lives besides kissing boys & biting into apples. What would be so wrong or unrealistic with centering the advertising around how many beers you can drink, bong hits you can take, or notes on the harmonica you can blow whilst tearfully belting out a wistful blues tune because your life is so unbearably empty, before the color starts to wear off? What about the number of sips you can take from a cup of anti-freeze before the color fades?

But this time I ignored the pictures of Kate Moss or whoever being embraced by the Ashton of the Hour, and I owned up to the fact that, whether I have somebody to kiss or not, I do reapply my lipstick approximately 92 times per hour, and therefore would benefit from a formula that boasts "extreme" wear.

So I sported the stuff for a week or so and was quite happy with it. The shade -- Be Blushed™, thanks -- is slightly shimmery yet subtle enough that it doesn't look like it contains the same chemicals as industrial paint, even though it clearly does, because the stuff does not budge. At all. Multiple cups of coffee into the day, through lunch and dinner, 'til I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror scrubbing my lips down with turpentine before bed.

Damn, I'm thinking, this stuff really does hold up through hell, highwater, Coronita Extra y Huevos Rancheros! Too bad I'm a lonely old maid with nobody to kiss, or else I'd actually be able to find out if the stuff can own up to its self-proclaimed endless kissability! And then, as usual, I put cucumber slices over my eyes, affixed my hair in rollers, jumped into my floor-length flannel kittens&bunnies-embroidered nightgown, and I in my kerchief, along with my cat, settled into bed for a long spinster's nap.

But a funny thing happened on my way to formally singing the praises of L'Oreal's Endless Kissable™ line. Something indeed took place in the meantime that makes me wonder just what kind of namby-pamby metrosexual girlie-lads they're using as the control in the product's lipstick kiss-off experiment. Somewhere along the line between being resigned to my spinstral fate and writing this cosmetics critique, not only did a boy kiss me, but a boy kissed me like he meant it, and immediately the lipstick vanished from my lips without a trace.

Sorry, L'Oreal. Almost there, but not quite. Almost endlessly kissable, but not quite as endless as the endless kissability of the endlessly kissable boy who is endlessly kissing you like he endlessly, kissably means it for thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever amen. Maybe next time.

My advice to you, L'Oreal, is to enroll your emo-boy models in kissing school. And my advice to you, dearest readers, is that come hell, highwater, carne asado o bistec con fritos, even turpentine is no match for the saliva of a boy who kisses you like he means it.