I looked today at all the cosmetics I brought with me. How ridiculous. Especially as I have now adopted the fresh, bare faced native Indian look with relish. Despite wearing SPF 50 every day, I appear to be slowly changing ethnicity right before the husbands eyes.
Even moisturiser is a bit of a stab in the dark at best, as it's so humid here, that it just slides off my face in tiny beads of perspiration moments after I've slathered it on. And mascara? As if...
Given the amount of times per hour I'm wiping my face, if I was foolish enough to put black khol into the equation I'd look like an African warrior princess.
(Or maybe I do now anyway...especially when heatedly chasing a semi-naked Dumps around the front yard, trying to 'catch him' in order to get him dressed for Kindergarten. The little bugger is fast.)
Speaking of warrior princesses, the other night the husband and I watched 'Avatar' on our little home cinema system (comprised of his Apple laptop and our portable surround sound speakers). It felt like a 3-D interactive movie when a flying cockroach came hurtling through our bedroom window and landed on the bed. I was not amused.
"That's it. Take me back to England right now. I cannot stay in a home with cockroaches."
The husband sighed, disgusted.
"It's just a one-off."
Some warrior princess I am. The sight of a giant cockroach reduced me to a trembling mess. Saying that, as long as I don't see a rat I'll be fine. I don't 'do' rodents. I simply can't abide with them in my abode...
...anymore than I am capable of traveling to exotic places without a bulging cosmetic case of overpriced, unneccessary, yet exceedingly pretty eyeshadows and lip glosses.
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