I would swear if he had been home when it happened that Daniel pushed me off the steps just so he could take over as my personal stylist. He is so much prettier than I am anyway and he's always said I would look like a supermodel (albeit, in miniature) if only I made an effort.
So I gave him the freedom to take care of making me presentable because not only am I a huge narcoleptic, too tired to bother (sorry, missed a little part of the Desolation of Smaug last night because warm chair/dark room/chocolate/zzzz) but I'm a card-carrying beauty ignorant too.
He said I could use some contouring so that I would look like I have epic cheekbones.
Seriously? We're faking cheekbones now? Can you do me some abs too like in 300?
Then he asked if I had any primer.
Yes! But it's not tinted. Is that okay? It's in the basement.
Why is it in the basement?
Because it's paint? What does that have to do with my getting ready?
Bridget, you're HOPELESS.
Oh, I knew that. Now what are we painting?
I don't suppose you have eye brightener.
HELL YES I HAVE THAT SHIT. It makes me look 30 instead of 115.
You don't look 115.
Apparently I do or you wouldn't want to fake my cheeks and start fresh with spackle.
Same difference. This is bullshit. If I look like a different person when you're finished, that's bad.
No that's good. It's you at your best.
He straightened my hair (squealing about how long it is now), and rubbed some lipstain over my lips (new thing! Doesn't bleed! I'm afraid my lips are being absorbed into my face with most lipstick now unless it's very dry. What the fuck.) and opted to dye my eyelashes with silver nitrate so that I don't have to try and finangle mascara with the left hand and then proclaimed me good to go.
You forgot my abs, Danny.
You're wearing a shirt. Take it off and we'll talk.
See you're the only one who can say that without it seeming pervy.
If you have a six-pack that might change. Can I draw some chest hair on you too?
You might not have to, I probably already have some. I told you I'm not ageing well, I'm just falling apart like an old monument, piece by piece. I'll probably have historical designation by the end of the year.
Ok, first of all, you're far too young for that. Secondly, I would have declined an invitation if I had known this was a pity party. What can we do to cheer you up?
Make some bacon? Or cake for breakfast?
Ew. Bridget, you eat so poorly. I'm surprised your skin is this nice.
Cake is good for the complexion.
You sure you didn't hit your head?
No. That would have been a blessing. Lobotomy from the outside.
I love you the way you are. Don't ask to take parts of yourself away. It won't make it easier, just harder. Okay, stop crying. The gel is going to run and it will never come off.
Quick, tell me a joke.
What do you call a gay Jamaican guy?
Seriously, Daniel. You're my favorite.
Yeah for NOW. Give it an hour and you'll say the same thing to someone else. I bet they can't give you fake cheekbones.
Right. Or abs. But they don't have abs either.
It's the cake.
Why do we all eat so much cake anyway?
I told you! It's good for the skin!