Maybe you have never heard of this affliction. Perhaps it has not affected your cozy, stable community just yet.
My addiction used to be restricted to online bingeing, since one of the many drawbacks of living hours from a major city is shopping that is limited to Walmart and the corner drugstore. Then an angel smiled upon me, the clouds parted, a chorus sounded, and a true-blue, full-size Sephora store opened in this town about a year ago.
The first time I went, the kids were with us, and the girls and I breathlessly entered the shiny, glitzy heaven, testers lined up as far as the eye could see, and we tested, sprayed, colored, squeezed, and twisted everything we could get our hands on. (And it showed, requiring extensive hand-washing later to remove the rainbow of lipstick, eye shadow, and liner tattooing the backs of our hands.) Except for Sunflower, that is, who for some reason chose to test everything on my hands. She was clean as a whistle when we left the store.
Sephoraholism runs in the family. When a small, black and white gift bag with red tissue paper appeared beneath our Christmas tree, one of the girls spotted it with a well-trained eagle eye and whispered dreamily, “Sephora…”
Turns out the bag was for me, a perfume I had doused myself in after dragging Gary into the make-up mecca. He remembered which one it was, and there it waited in the trademark gift bag. Even one of the boys asked, “What was in the Sephora bag?” after I opened my presents. This addiction knows no gender, race, or age boundaries.
I also got a gift card, and poor Gary patiently waited through three (yes, three) trips to Sephora before I spent the whole thing and came home with my beauty booty, carrying the bag like the Hope Diamond was wrapped in that red tissue paper.
I am currently satiated, my Sephora thirst quenched with my Christmas present and gift card purchases. But when the addiction strikes again…and I assure you it will… at least Sephora is only a few minutes drive away!