This morning, while wearing my brand new sparkling lip gloss, I witnessed a car accident. And because I was running late for volunteering at Meredith’s school, I kept driving—feeling really crappy for not stopping. Because, seriously? These twinkling (and supposedly pouting) lips need to speak out! Especially in situations where insurance companies and police officers are involved!
As I helped a few of my kindergarten friends learn the difference between 12 and 15 (those numbers are especially tricky, and probably should have been named twoteen and fiveteen), I shimmered and set the plan of calling the police the minute I got home to tell them (using my glimmering mouth) that I saw the accident, and it was totally the guy in the white truck’s fault, and I’m sorry I left the scene, and I am now ready for my community service assignment. (My new glossy lips will really pop when I match them up with an orange jumpsuit.)
After the final kindergartener was able to identify the numbers with no mistakes, I drove to Walgreens to purchase a new set of tweezers. (When your lips are like diamonds, your brows beg for a proper taming. Girl, you know it’s true.) While in the parking lot I saw that a tow truck, holding one of the cars involved in the accident, was across the street at the gas station.
I crossed the street and let my flickering lips lead the way to the tow truck guy.
Me (sparkle, sparkle): Everyone from the accident is alright, right?
Tow Truck Guy (TTG): I’m not really supposed to discuss it.
Me (with lips like shining stars): I know. BUT, I saw the whole thing. And I want to make sure that everyone knows that the guy in the white truck was 100% at fault.
TTG (sort of hypnotized by my glowing yap): Yeah. The guy in the truck knows it was his fault. He’ll be responsible for the whole deal.
Me: Ohmygoshyouwanttokissmethisiscrazy.
TTG: Ma’am?
Me: YoucancallmeSheila. Nothing. Okay then.
So, justice is often served, men who drive white trucks might be all Greased Lightning but at least they’re also sometimes honest, I’m going to write President Obama about my twoteen and fiveteen recommendation, and my lips are luminous with no sticky or tacky feeling. Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
yeah, he TOTALLY wanted to kiss you! I can tell!
I’m going to Sephora this afternoon!
U-Tube Lil’Mama, she sings this cool song called Lipgloss…”it’s cool and it’s poppin” and I be lovin it!! Please do it. You will laugh every time you put on your new lip gloss…I do.
Its like your lipgloss is your trusty (yet sparkly) sidekick with all the “dogoodery” you’ve done!
You got my attention with your sparkling lips. And you absolutely made the sale when you said there’s no sticky or tacky feeling.
I kind of imagine you flying around St. Louis and doing good deeds. Your cape is magnificent and you blind enemies by angling your head just right and reflecting the sun off your lips.
Then, when the cops are hauling away the villains you incapacitated, you smile and your teeth do that sparkle thing where that TING noise happens.
Okay, I need said non-sticky sparkly lip gloss. NEED it.
But what color is the lipgloss????
I agree with you and the kindergarteners completely regarding the twoteen and fiveteen name switcheroo. When you confer with President Obama, can you also add threeteen to the list for the number name change transition team? Thanks.
I just thank god, every day, that you, and your lips, are out there.
You are so funny. I want you to know that reading your blog brightens my day!
This post also kind of makes me want to make out with you.
This post is hilarious! Also, please pass on the brand/flavor of this lip gloss. It is a must have!!
Love this. Thanks for the giggles.
Your lips are my hero.
I am convinced that you have many capes that are shawls hand-knit by you from some fabulous yarn that you found at an obscure yarn store your discovered one day and have never been able to find again. Mundanes that see you on the street only perceive that you are wearing a fabulous shawl and pause to admire your glimmering lips. I’m sure you had a tingly feeling in your fingers as you were knitting with the first of the yarns, but the day that you wore the first one and how you realized your shawls had super powers is a story for another day.
-Laura
(Sorry, Annie’s comment really fired my imagination!)
Nice that you took down my post. Nice censorship. This blog is a joke.
For those interested, here is what Mr. Tim Parker (IP 65.107.75.226) had to say last night at 11:30:
What the heck does your gloss have to do with a car accident? This is like the last episode of Seinfeld–it makes no sense. I would suggest not writing about someone’s accident and how it was irrelevant compared to your lip gloss. What if the tow truck person was wrong and someone was hurt. Are we so shallow to not care about people’s lives? wtf….
There you go, Mr. Parker. Your original comment in all of its glory! Have a nice day and thanks for stopping by!
Based on the guilt that you felt about not remaining to be a witness for the cops, I’m wondering… do you, like me, ever feel personally responsible when you see dead animals by the road?
I mean sure, I didn’t hit them myself, but I’m driving a car, too, and just speeding down the highway with no regard for the fact that A LIFE WAS RECENTLY ENDED right here by the road. It’s very difficult being me, what with all the responsibility I bear for so many terrible things.
The shallow (or shall I say shallow brained) one is Mr. Parker. I know irony is a difficult thing to interpret for those with slower brains, but there’s no higher compliment in my mind than having your self depricating ironic sense of humor and story telling being compared to ANY Seinfeld episode! It doesn’t make sense to him because apparently he is not clever enough, not because you are shallow.
Henry Watson Fowler, in The King’s English, says “any definition of irony—though hundreds might be given, and very few of them would be accepted—must include this, that the surface meaning and the underlying meaning of what is said are not the same.”
That lipstick site seems to be making implicit claims as to side effects of the lipstick, what with the name “Buxom Girls” and all.
BTW, I actually GET the joke. That’s why you’re in my reader.
Now, a red pickup truck driver can’t be trusted. As in the guy who ran the red light and nearly killed me years ago…only to tell the police it had been yellow. Thankfully, none of the witnesses had lip gloss on which required them to leave without telling the police.