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Cosmetics Class

Hey you. You with the make-up bag on your lap, compact in one hand and sponge-brush in the other. Yeah, you … the glamour gal on the morning tube who thinks that every other person around you wants to learn the beauty secrets you picked up last Saturday afternoon at Selfridges’ Mac counter.

Here’s a make-up tip: Apply at home, not on the damn public transportation system. Is the lighting on the tube so much better (and, er, natural?) than the light over the mirror at home? Or did you, and I blush to think, not make it home last night?

Lately it seems I can’t go a day on the tube without your or one of your tacky sisters putting your face on. And 9 out of 10 times, it really doesn’t seem to help. Today’s model could have used better highlights and clothes that fit her (muffin tops, contrary to Kath’s advice, are not the look and the too-tight Capri pants should have been left on the rack at Asda) … but I guess the Central line doesn’t offer color correction or personal shopping. What’s next? A quick eyebrow wax? Flossing? Your boyfriend having a quick tube shave (um, maybe I should rephrase that … or not) with his cordless electric shaver?

I don’t know why you bug me so much. I’ll add it to my list of irrational pet peeves, blended right between Gywnneth and men who wear clam diggers.

As much as I try to ignore the shadow you cast over my otherwise hypoallergenic commute, I just can’t help watching, waiting for that schadenfreude second when the carriage jolts and your lipstick slides across your cheek, creating a cockatease gash across your powdered cheek.

And when the train does lurch and you end up with a mascara brush hanging out of your eye, don’t say you weren’t wand.