I am the keeper of unwanted lipgloss

A couple of years ago, Carrie helped me pick out some new make-up. It's a simple, all year combination of products that makes me look fresh, natural, and enhances my inherent goddess-like features.

Anyway, I've been squared away with the make-up thing for awhile. Don't need to experiment or stray. I'm not girly smart enough for that.

And, really, I don't have to.

You see, Carrie, for all her knowledge and dilligent study, is never satisfied with her make-up. She's always buying new things. And if Carrie doesn't like the new things she buys (usually lip gloss), she gives it to me.

"Here," she says, handing me the newest tube of whatever, "you try this. I don't like how it looks on me. Maybe it'll look good on you."

So I do as I'm told. I slap on the new war paint and then show myself to Carrie so she can ascertain whether or not it does look good on me (I do not possess these skills).

Nine times out of ten, it does look good on me and I get another tube of whatever to toss in my drawer in case I want to wear it sometime.

Meanwhile, Carrie curses for twenty minutes of the injustice of life because everything she likes looks better on me than her.

If I only I were a little more girly. I could feel her pain.