Damn Lip Liner

If there is one thing people feel comfortable pointing out, it's the fact that my lipliner is crooked. Considering I suck at putting makeup on, this observation could be very true, except that I don't think I've worn lipliner since my high school cheerleading days. Yes, I was a cheerleader, shut up.

I'm telling you, one night in Cancun and for the rest of your life, you have strangers pointing out what is wrong with your lips.

Yeah, okay, I had a lot to drink. Who doesn't when they are on vacation? AND, who doesn't when you are in Mexico?

So, apparently I refused to take a cab back because I didn't need one. " I can WALK!" I don't remember this.

Apparently my friends stayed with me. (Remember how much I love my friends?!)

Apparently, I was not sober enough to walk, took off my heels and continued barefoot on the Mexican pavement.

I tripped.

I thought my shoes were more important than my face.

I broke my fall with my face, arms in the air, holding the shoes high.

The shoes survived, not even a scuff, not a scratch, nothing.

Why did I care about my shoes?

I woke up the next morning and wondered why my face hurt so bad. Wondered why it felt like my lips were sticking out further than my nose.





My lipliner isn't crooked, my scar is. I decided to grind my face into the Mexican pavement and not use my hands to break the fall. Thanks for reminding me.