When I first met my wife, she was a sweet, innocent little down-to-earth homebody of a woman who had not been corrupted by big city life and the ravishes of keeping-up-with-the Joneses living. She wore sensible, practical and demure clothing, her hair was styled simply, she carried herself with charm and dignity, and her face was an image of natural perfection that didn’t need adornment by a caulk gun filled with Maybelline and Esteé Lauder. My pint point is that even being the rake and cad that I am, I fell head over heels for her just the way she was. You see, I’ve never been a fan of makeup, especially when it’s the heavy variety slathered on like clown costumery by so many women today.
Don’t even get me started on false eyelashes, Botox injections, cosmetic surgery, fake hair extensions, coloured contact lenses, tattoos, body/facial piercings, nose rings, navel jewelry and other atrocities . . .
Grrrrrrrrr.