For the record, I find lip stains and lip glosses rather intimidating, frightening even. I can’t quite put a finger on it but I am a little afraid. Lipsticks? Regular lipsticks? Those are alright. I can deal.

Wikipedia defines lip stains as cosmetic products that colour by virtue of (duh) staining. As being drying and non conducive for use during Winter. Red flag moment. A blob of colour, smudged upon my mouth. A harsh blob of colour, no less. Virtually impossible to remove (I know, I’ve succumbed to their wily ways in the past and purchased several), leaving one with a post-apocalyptic victim look. Lip stains are like the Teflon of lippies. Not very attractive at all, is it?

I know the fear is not all that irrational but then again,

aren’t phobias founded on a complete absence of logic or rational thought?

That and the fact that I really do believe lip stains and I aren’t destined to bond. Really, really.

I begin my case by explaining how I’m not your traditional Asian female whose porcelain complexion provides the perfect foil for any colour imaginable. On any given day, my skin leans towards olive hues. As such, what looks heavenly on the paler members of my kind, well, vanishes, with nary a trace, on me. Nor am I sufficiently tanned to showcase jewel hues without resembling Grace Jones on a bad day out.

{ no porcelain doll am I }

And then there are lip glosses. Beasts in their own right.

The promise of a picture perfect pout. The allure of lips so soft, so moist, that to kiss them would be to kiss heaven itself. But it is that very same luscious, moisture-kissed look which proved the catalyst to my downfall.

{ pucker up }

Think glossy red. Think sporadic, strong gusts of wind. Let’s now add very long hair into the mix. A tragedy just waiting to happen. Yes, I had bloody lines streaking across my face, and that wasn’t even the worse part of it. Being utterly oblivious to the state of things, I continued to traipse around town, all day. Shopping, eating, more shopping. Never realising I resembled a cage fighter who’d taken quite the beating. Sigh.

I suppose I could surmise that as the defining moment.

The moment when I understood how this shiny concoction and I would never become best friends, not even in the name of come-hither lips.

I must confess though, given the glossy wave of offerings cosmetic giants have been putting out, I am tempted. Sorely tempted to give our relationship another go. Perhaps sufficient time has passed, allowing us to set differences aside and try again. I don’t know. I don’t know.

Would you kiss and make up?

Love, Sheela