Hi. My name is Espresso Shot Blogger #1 and I am an addict. I guess I should feel a little bit better now because I know the first step is admitting there’s a problem.
Without a doubt, there’s an issue I have no control over, and I need help to fix it because I’m obviously not capable of handling this on my own. In reality, things could be worse because what I’m doing isn’t illegal and, as far as I’m aware, it’s not hurting anyone. However, I’m always filled with regret after engaging in this behavior. So much of my time and energy and money has been wasted, but I keep repeating the same mistakes, not learning from my past to get control over my actions. And it always starts the same way. My inner dialogue goes something like this: “I know exactly what’s going to happen if I do this, so I just won’t. I’ll just walk away.” Simple, right? But then it shifts just enough to get me into trouble. I start thinking, “I’ve got this. I’m fine. Lots of people do this every day and they’re fine. I can be like that. And
maybe it’ll be different this time because I’m an adult and I’ll be smart and realize I can do this and still have everything under control.” But I never do have it under control. And I’m realizing more and more that I never did.
I’m a lip gloss addict.
There’s a method to my madness, but I’m smart enough not to subject other people to my insanity. It’s too shameful and embarrassing the way I pore over the selections, testing the color on the back of my hand when possible, or, even better, actually on my lips. I’m more vulnerable at a department store or makeup chain store where the selection is broad and testers are readily available. Often times, salespeople are either too eager to talk because you’re sequestered to a small area of merchandise with them or, even more often, too disinterested to really offer any useful help with a look that I interpret as “why would you even bother, you’re revolting and no shade of lip gloss can help you, troll.” On the off chance a salesperson is pleasant enough for me to accept her (it’s most often a woman, so I’m going to stick with that pronoun) help, I blurt out my standard, overused explanation of what I’m looking for: “I always end up buying the same shade, but I want something just a little darker than natural, but I think it has to have a little bit of pink or I look like a corpse. What do you have that will make me look like Cindy Crawford? [insert nervous, annoying laughter]“ That last part is my offhand attempt to make my frenzied rantings seem amusing. No one is ever amused – least of all me. While being offered a variety of shades that I am already silently rejecting, I’m sure the sales associate is pushing a hidden button under the counter to alert the security guards to stand by and keep a close eye on the crazy lady with the stripes all over her hand. Sometimes, because I feel bad for wasting her time, I’ll put on the gloss she recommends. And it’ll look like crap. And I’ll tell her I’m going to look at it in different light and probably come back to get it. If I leave, I will never come back to get it. Sometimes, I’ll buy it out of guilt for making her spend so much time “helping” me. Often, I’ll leave because I am too flustered to spend any more time there. Yet clearly this scenario doesn’t take place often enough because I’m currently in possession of an absurd number of seldom used glosses. All in eerily similar shades. Like little trophies of my insecurity.