Face it

I was happily sat in the garden in the sun today when I realised I was late for my lunch date. I grabbed my bag and headed out the door. Half way down the road I realised I was naked.

No, not naked as in clothes-less, but naked as in I wasn't wearing any make up. In my rush to be on time I completely forgot to slap on some, err, slap, and, although it pains me to admit it, I felt a little peculiar. In turn, I felt a little disgusted with myself. How could I be so vain as to feel like forgetting to pop on a bit of make up meant something was missing?

It's not like I always wear bottle-loads of make up or anything. My regular daily make up includes a lightweight foundation from Pixie, eyeliner pencil, a touch of bronzing powder, blusher and clear mascara (the black stuff takes waaay too long to take off). That's it. And even those I apply sparingly. In fact, if you asked my husband how much make up I wear he'd probably say none at all because it never looks like I'm wearing any. Yet somehow I still need to wear make up - albeit a token amount - to feel like 'me'.

I thought about it a lot on the 15 minute walk to lunch. At the beginning of the walk I even tried to avoid looking people in the eye. But what are they going to do? Throw up because I'm slightly paler than usual? Nope. So after five minutes I decided to strut a little more down the Uxbridge Road, thinking to myself that this is my face. And the facts are: my face is very pale, I have some red patches on my cheeks, I have a few spots on my chin and an oily t-zone. But that's just how things are; that's me.

By the time I'd reached the restaurant I had completely forgotten I wasn't slathered in make up. And as it turns out, I didn't need any to have a good time.