I head into my room to get ready for my shift, which makes it sound like it’s some grand affair. It’s not.
Just a pair of jeans that are starting to lose the battle against time and thigh rub, and a black t-shirt that says Bob’s Bar in peeling white letters over my chest. Real glamorous stuff.
Still, it’s warm out today. Finally.
I decide to brush out my hair until it falls in soft, wavy ribbons, all shiny and clean.
I pull it up into a high ponytail, a little bounce at the crown. Something about it makes me feel fresh.
Presentable.
Kinda cute.
I swipe on a bit of face powder, add some mascara to make my blue eyes pop, and finish with a touch of pink gloss.
Sweet.
Simple.
Functional.
I don’t do heavy makeup. Not because I’m some au naturel goddess or anything, but because I run hot.
And by hot, I don’t mean sexy.
I mean sweaty.
You ever see blush on top of a peaches-and-cream complexion that’s currently losing a battle with humidity and hustle?
Yeah.
Not cute.