10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 4

  I slapped Mellie Jo really hard, because I’ve seen them do that on TV and it always looked like fun, especially if Mellie Jo was the recipient. “Stop screaming like an idiot. There aren’t any boys watching so you don’t need to hog the attention.”

  Mellie Jo just looked at me for a second, somewhat startled, and for once in her life unable to come up with an immediate comeback. This pleased me. Then I noticed that the cheek she was rubbing now had a nice pink glow to it, making her look really cute. This made me mad, and I considered striking her again. If she had to be prettier than me, she should at least be in pain.

  Little Sahara tugged on the hem of my gorgeous dress, reminding me that she was even there. It’s hard to keep track of relatives when things are fighting for your attention like glitter lip gloss and howling middle sisters. I glanced down at the small one. “What?”

  Little Sahara pointed up the street, where my bestie Chandra was glaring at us, wondering what could possibly be taking so long when we had skating-rink plans to discuss and dipped ice cream to consume. I made a motion at my bestie that hopefully signified “I’ll be there in just a sec, I’ve discovered something that requires more research”. She made a gesture back which I immediately understood to mean “You have five minutes, and then I’m taking you off my calling plan.”

  I turned back to Mellie Jo, who was still looking irritatingly pretty, and switched Little Sahara’s grubby paw from my hand to Mellie’s. “Take the small one up to Dairy Queen and STAY THERE. Don’t leave or I will beat you again.”

  Mellie Jo had some thoughts to share on the matter. “I’m telling Mom you hit me. You’re gonna get it!”

  The underlings are so clueless. “Are you kidding? She’s going to raise my allowance because I made you shut up for two minutes. Now go!”

  As Mellie Jo finally started moving, dragging the constantly-confused but still basically happy and complacent Little Sahara behind her, I focused my attention on the Merle Norman shop that had suddenly become my favorite place in the entire world.

4. Lip Gloss can help you make financial decisions.

  I opened the door to the store, which caused a little bell to tinkle and announce my arrival. I liked that. Bells should always ring when I enter places.

  Immediately, a really old woman stopped fiddling with something unimportant off to the side and raced to greet me. Her enthusiasm quickly waned, however, when she assessed my age and therefore my revenue potential. She slowed her step, and forced a weak smile. (To be fair, it probably wasn’t her fault that she couldn’t smile a little bigger. She had so much pancake makeup on that her facial muscles didn’t have enough strength to fully complete the grin.) “Are you looking for your mother?”

  This woman was an idiot. Why must I be surrounded by amateurs that don’t understand what my presence means? Clearly, I would have to make this simple for the woman. I pointed at the display of glitter lip gloss in the window. “I need some of that. How many do you have?”

  Pancake was at least able to comprehend pointing. She glanced at the display and then back at me. “Oh, so you’re interested in the Starlight Sensations Lip Enhancer?”

  Oh my God. The name alone, perfectly capturing my essence, nearly made me swoon, akin to the delicious tingling I sometimes got while watching sweaty boys tackle each other on the football field, fighting for my honor and eventual sainthood. “Yes, I’ll take every one of them that you have.”

  Pancake looked at me for a moment, then did another pretend smile. “They’re a little pricey, dear. Five dollars a piece.”

  Five dollars? Sigh. “Okay, then I’ll take one of them. But I need you to hide the rest of them, at least until tomorrow. I want to be the only Starlight Sensations Girl at the skating rink tonight.”

  Pancake didn’t even try to smile at this directive. “Dear, I can’t do that. I need to sell them. We’ve got to pay the bills, now don’t we?”

  No, we don’t. YOU might have to pay bills, but not me. I don’t have to worry about those things yet, leaving the details to unhappy older people who are bitter and tired. I’m still young, cute and completely devoid of any financial entanglements. The only thing I knew about money was that I needed more of it.

  I pulled out my designer coin purse, retrieved a five, and waved it at the servant. “Here.”

  She snatched the bill away from me with a speed which indicated that those bills of hers must be fairly pressing. “Oh, and there’s tax, dear. Twenty cents.”

  Tax? Did royalty have to pay taxes around here? Obviously I would be making a presentation at the next Town Council meeting. It’s so much work training these people. I reluctantly gave up two dimes.

  Now that I had lessened her monetary burden, Pancake decided that we were best friends and became very chatty. “The Starlight Sensations line is BRAND NEW. We just got those in today. I barely had them in the window before you dropped by for a visit.”

  Okay, first, this is not a visit. That would imply that we had a relationship of some kind, and such is not the case. You are my beauty assistant, just like your little nametag says. You will not be the godmother of my children. Second, and more importantly, of course the glitter lip gloss is brand new. I am very current when it comes to cosmetics, instantly recognizing trends the second that they happen. Frankly, I’m surprised you even changed the store window without consulting me.

  But all I really said to the woman was “Where’s my lip gloss?”

  Pancake, properly chastened, reached into a drawer of some kind and then placed my new treasure on the counter before me. To my great thrill, I learned that the tube came in its own little pink pouch. I was suddenly closer to Heaven than I had ever been. Well, except for the time that I won the Little Miss Asparagus beauty pageant and Chandra did not.

  Which reminded me, I had places to be. Chandra was very impatient, and really would try to cause an issue if I didn’t get to Dairy Queen soon. Poor thing, I still had so much training to do with her. I grabbed my purchase with a worshipful hand, and turned to the door.

  Pancake proved unable to just stand there and let me go. “I hope you’re the prettiest girl at the skating rink tonight!”

  Fool. Of course I would be. Hope had nothing to do with it. I exited the building, the little bell alerting the world that the princess was in transit and was now available for viewing. As all bells should.

  Once I was back on the sidewalk, I spotted Chandra down the street, where she was carefully standing far enough away from Mellie Jo and Little Sahara that passersby would not immediately assume there was an association of any kind. As soon as she noticed me, Chandra could immediately tell that something was making me even prettier. “Oh my GOD, girl,” she yelled. “What is that cute pink thing you’re carrying?”

  Why must she always bellow? I sighed and headed her way.

  As I arrived in front of Dairy Queen, waving at my various fans, Chandra was nearly frothing at the mouth as she eyed my pink treasure. “What IS it? Tell me!”

  I smiled with knowledge and grace. “It’s the new lip gloss that I had special ordered. The Merle Norman people picked me to try it first.” Little lies never hurt anyone, especially if they involve beauty or social standing.

  Chandra’s eyes lit up even further. “Can I try it?”

  As if. “No, but let’s go inside and I’ll let you hold it.”

  We opened the door and sashayed into Dairy Queen. (There was no bell announcing our arrival, so I would have to speak to management about that oversight.) I already knew which of the booths could be seen by everyone in the building, so I marched over to that one and made the people sitting there leave. Of course, I sat facing away from the door,  because that gave me an air of mystery and sophistication.

  Chandra, her eyes still shining, took the opposite seat and prepared herself for glamour and wonder. I quickly ran through my presentational speech in my head, fully aware that everyone around us would be listening because they always want to know what I’m doing. And when I finally actually applied the gloss to my lips in a few minutes? Well, the applause was going to be deafening. I could hardly wait.

  Much to my dismay, Chandra’s eyes flitted away from me, focused on something at the front of the store. This wouldn’t do. I grabbed her chin and turned her head back to me. Amazingly, she turned away from me again. Then she spoke. “Um, you better look outside.”

  “What could possibly be more important than…” I glanced out the front window and saw nothing of note. “There’s no one there. What’s wrong with you?”

  “Mellie Jo and Little Sahara, that’s what. We left them out there, and now they’re gone.”


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10 Reasons Why Lip Gloss Can Make You a Better Person, Part 3

3. Lip Gloss brings all the boys to the yard.

  By the time I was in junior high, I was a High Priestess of lip gloss application and functionality. It had brought so much goodness to my life and I was eternally thankful for its creation, never spending a waking moment without at least three tubes within reach. Mom was slightly concerned about what she perceived as an unhealthy relationship, but she finally let it go, because in the end she couldn’t really complain about something that kept me busy and preoccupied.

  Besides, she still might be able to save my two younger sisters from following the twisted path I had chosen for myself. I was too for gone for redemption, but perhaps she could stop the wee ones from tumbling off my cliff. I didn’t bother to inform Mom that it was too late to save Mellie Jo. She already had numerous issues that were far more unhealthy than a simple infatuation with cosmetics. It no longer surprised me when authorities knocked on the door at all hours. I would just point at Mellie Jo’s bedroom door and then go back to drawing pictures of myself with mascara.

  And as for Little Sahara, well, there wasn’t much to worry about there. She had only spoken about five words in the last three years. As we all know, you have to be able to carry on a conversation if you plan on getting into any type of trouble that would be considered worthwhile. But at least Little Sahara did have one friend that she spent time with, so that was good. Granted, this friend was actually a stick that she had found in the backyard and named “Jenna”, but she seemed to enjoy their time together.

  Anyway, it was a Friday afternoon, and I had just left behind the hideous junior high building where I was currently serving time. Those people just didn’t understand me, and it was quite frustrating. Truth be told, I was in a bit of a mood, because the history teacher, an insipid man by the name of Mr. Lashua, has insisted on telling us about some stupid war rather than comment on my dress. I just can’t fathom why anyone would care about guns and treaties when I had a pretty frock.

  But at least we were finally done with that, and I was on my way to meet my best friend Chandra at the Dairy Queen. We had very important plans to make about tonight’s session at Skate Planet, because it was the first night of this season’s round of Friday-night roller-skating, and everyone’s position in the social hierarchy would be determined for the rest of the school year. It was critical that we be prepared.

  Unfortunately, there was a slight glitch in our planning. Mom had sent a note to school that I was responsible for picking up my atrocious little sisters from their baby school, and must keep them alive until Mom could return from some very important sale at Wal-Mart. Despite years of past pleading, Mom did not agree with my firm belief that life would be much better if the little attention-stealing munchkins would get kidnapped, thrown into an anonymous van, clutching each other in their matching outfits, and then never be seen again. I already had preliminary plans to knock down the wall between my and Mellie Jo’s room, so I could have a suite like Olivia Newton-John did.

  But the abduction would have to wait for another day, because if Mom got all distraught over the missing worthless siblings, my debutante arrival at the skating rink might be jeopardized. Therefore, I trudged the two blocks to the elementary school to pick up the little hag-lettes.

  Of course, I only stepped one foot onto the school property, and then just waited. There was no way I was going to actually venture into the building, because small people are annoying and of little social value. The little urchins would have to come to me. So I just stood there, tapping an impatient Earth Shoe and hoping no members of the skating royalty would drive by, gathering details for a potential scandal.

  Mellie Jo arrived first, of course, because she almost always had to leave the school building in a hasty manner, usually due to irrational actions on her part. This time, the front doors banged open, sending several unprepared kindergartners flying through the air, and Mellie Jo came thundering down the stairs. She glanced behind her, noting the position of her pursuers and calculating the exact seconds she would need for successful escape. Satisfied that odds were in her favor, she skidded to a halt, turned around, flipped a double bird at the still unseen hunting party, then resumed her flight, racing past me, the wind whipping the hem of my cute dress.

  “Mellie Jo!” I snarled, as Bonnie raced past me toward Clyde’s hideout. “We don’t have time for this. Chandra is waiting at Dairy Queen!”

  Mellie Jo dove behind a trash dumpster, and then peeked around the metal corner. “Two minutes and we can go. Those people are old and tired. They’ll give up.”

  I turned back to the school steps, just in time to see what appeared to be a janitor and a generic coach stumble out the front door. True enough, they were already huffing heavily and producing that nasty sweat that men do. (Women don’t sweat. They glisten.) After glancing around a bit, they finally sighed and went back into the building.

  I faced Mellie Jo again. “What did you DO? Does it affect me in any way?”

  Mellie Jo came out from behind the dumpster, throwing down a piece of rubbish that had interested her briefly. “Don’t worry about it. Nobody died.”

  Fine. I really didn’t care. “Now, where’s Little Sahara?”

  Mellie Jo made a face, because Little Sahara was her least favorite relative. “The cafeteria ladies are making pizza for some stupid meeting tonight.”

  Ah. No further explanation needed. Little Sahara worshipped pizza with a mystifying passion. A love that dare not speak its name. “Let’s go get her.”

  We rounded the corner of the building, startling two fourth-graders who were smoking. (We didn’t have cable TV at that time, and entertainment options were limited in our small town.) They squealed and ran away, terrified, especially when they caught sight of Mellie Jo. We proceeded to the employee entrance for the cafeteria.

  And there was Little Sahara, standing on a turnip crate and gazing rapturously in one of the windows. (She was holding her friend up against the glass, so Jenna Stick could see what was going on as well.) I think she was quietly mumbling some worshipful hymn, but the only word I could understand was “cheese”.

  “Little Sahara, it’s time to go. Come on.”

  “Pizza,” said Little Sahara.

  “I understand that. But you can’t have any. Come on.”

  Little Sahara whispered something to Jenna Stick that sounded somewhat spiteful, then she turned and hopped off the turnip crate. She started to reach for Mellie Jo’s hand, but caught herself in time and did not proceed with the fatal mistake. She clutched at my hand instead, and I was blessed with something sticky that had probably been on her little fingers for three days.

  We headed to the town square.

  Which took about three seconds. Once there, I glanced around for my friend Chandra. We both greatly loved making a grand entrance into Dairy Queen, but it was no fun doing that by yourself, so I was sure Chandra was waiting for me somewhere on the square.

  “That light is SO stupid,” smirked Mellie Jo.

  Fully realizing that I probably didn’t care, I turned to Mellie for further information. “What are you talking about?”

  Mellie Jo pointed at the single traffic light in the square. “It always blinks just yellow. It’s stupid and nobody pays attention. Dumb.”

  I smiled sweetly. I knew why the light was there. It has nothing to do with coordinating traffic on the quaint little streets of this trapped-in-time town. It was a beacon, alerting the rest of the world that my magnificent presence was located here. Just in case people needed to organize a parade in my honor or set up a coronation stand of some kind where I could receive kings. I sighed contentedly.

  Mellie Jo picked up on this. “Oh, just stop it. It is NOT always about YOU. Because SOME people have better things to do than give you presents.” Then she threw something in the gutter. Just what all did that little heathen pick up while she was behind the dumpster?

  Anyway, I didn’t listen to her. She was just bitter. People are always bitter because they can’t be as pretty as me or have as many friends. Maybe some day Mellie Jo could join the Air Force and appreciate the chain of command. You earn your rank, either through sheer birth-given natural skills or very hard work. There are no short cuts. You can yell and scream and fight for attention and throw younger siblings in the dryer all you want, but there are regulated steps to follow. If you aren’t born with talent shooting out your ass like me.

  There’s a shout from down the street, so me and Mellie and Little Sahara turn and look, wondering what banshee is begging for attention now. Oh look, it’s my bestie Chandra standing outside the Java House, which is Kirksville’s version of Starbucks, only with less of the foo-foo Italian terms and more of the corn-fed country girls who are just waiting to get pregnant.

  Chandra: “Get down here NOW! We have to figure out what color shoelaces you should wear when we first get to the skating rink

  I grab my sisters and head toward Chandra and her ability to bellow like livestock are on the loose. I’m really hating Mom for making me drag around these siblings, because I clearly have things to attend to and familial love should only go so far.

  So there I am, dragging Mellie Jo behind me as she squirms to run away and torment ugly people, and Little Sahara as she squirms to follow the Domino’s pizza truck that just shot by. When suddenly, in a total surprise, something catches my eye in the front window of the Merle Norman shop to my left. All sights and sounds around me fade into the distance, becoming nothing but white noise. I even let go of my siblings, because if a UFO needs to abduct them right now, that’s fine.

  Positioned front and center in Merle Norman is a tantalizing display of the latest lip product. It’s yet another version of lip gloss, which is fine, because there can never be enough, but this one is offering something new.

  The lip gloss has actual glitter in it, creating a shimmering effect that could help planes land. I immediately shove my face against the glass, a line of drool trailing from my chin. I cannot live until I have some of this sacred essence.

  Melissa Jo, clamoring up from the sidewalk where I threw her sorry ass after noticing Nirvana at Norman, glances at the window display. The blood drains from her face and she begins screaming in terror.


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