SLAP AND TICKLED
Running out of foundation (the kind you slap on your face, not the kind you wear under 16 layers of clothing now it’s the end of ‘summer’* ). Place almost-empty plastic bottle into clear plastic bag in case it discovers a hitherto hidden pocket of gloop once it’s in my handbag.
Go into pharmacy store I won’t name because you know how the internet hates any form of advertising, so let’s just call it ‘Shoes’.** In fact, only go into it myself because I have a gift voucher as compensation for standing in another branch of the chain last week for 1hr 20 minutes, after which time I *still* left without my medication, but that’s another post.
Approach counter of cosmetics brand. Talk to plastic woman, whose epidermis arrived in position 5 minutes before the rest of her did, as she’s wearing so many layers of slap, it’s visible from the International Space Station.
“I’d like one of these, please,” I say, as I hold up the diaphanous bag (it’s also see-through) which contains the beige tube of gunk. (I have to take it with me, as there are so many adjectives in the description of what it does, it’ll be the end of next summer* before I remember them all).
She takes the bag from me and looks at the front the of the bottle.
“I need to see the back of it for the shade,” she tells me. And she makes to remove the bottle from the clear holdall.
“You don’t need to take it out,” I proffer helpfully, in a loving and caring, derisory sniggering kind of a way. “The bag’s see-through on all sides.”
She snorts. She turns the bag around. All on her own, but then, I am in a hysterical heap on the floor at this point. She gleans the information and finds the product in her drawers. (Now don’t start). I say thank you, hand over my gift card and scarper to split my sides on the sidewalk. (What?)
What makes me think she’s a Brexit voter?
* Old English word you may not have come across if you’re under 108
** Other footwear names are available