When I turned thirty. I decided to stay thirty for some time.
I never thought I will see the day when I didn’t want to be my age. I can’t for the life of me imagine that there was a time I thought thirty was old.
Oh the Horror!
Any ho, I have been thirty for the past two and half years and now that my younger brother is married. I am no longer at ease with my “Benjamin buttonization”
I just feel like I can’t do that no more.
People be calculating and shit. (cue in the African American voice in my head) Which is the voice in my head nowadays thanks to binge watching “Love and hip hop, Madea movies, reading bossip.com and Tamar Braxton (I love that girl she gives me life.)
Hell! (Continued in my inner African American voice) Ma brother will soon be having kids and them kids gonna be in kindergarten and a bitch be still claiming thirty. People be doing the math and looking at him like he started fucking at 12. Ain’t nobody gat time for that.
So now I have accepted that I am a grown woman who is going to get older every year. I guess I just have to also accept some stuff about myself that is never ever going to change.
I have made the of these thing and it is a long list going to the top of my list is......
Drum roll please........
I am never ever going to be able to have a perfectly organised makeup counter for more than a day.
Forget how many pinterest images on makeup organisation I see that can never happen for me ........for more than a day.
I will scatter them in the next morning rush.
Now I know what you may be thinking and the answer is NO!
No, I am not the person who can orderly put things I have just used back especially makeup.
I don’t know why okay!
I just can’t.
So starting today, I declare I shall no longer squander my precious time berating myself about this and all other petty things.
You know what I am going to do? I intend to buy a huge tray like thing with a cover where I shall put all my make up in.
Why tray like?
So I can see everything spread out, reach for it easily and prevent any heated searching during my morning getting ready frenzy.
And why does it need a cover?
So I can put that mess out of sight and hide from all accusing eyes especially mine.
Yep that is why I am going to get a tray like apparatus.
Like an actual dish a dish of makeup which I shall serve unto myself in the morning, for facial adornment and beautification.
I am yet to find that said utensil with the right proportion long and big enough to accommodate my large makeup selection and narrow enough to fit my tiny European sized wardrobe. Not forgetting the all important specification of a lid.
Now the small problem I facing is, short of a chafing dish without the stand I cannot seem to find a suitable container. I am very tempted to settle on a chafing dish.
But a chafing dish….It does seem a bit extreme.
Hmmm a chafing dish in my wardrobe?
That is the stuff of Nigerian movies o!
Now we all know that when you see kitchen equipment in a woman’s wardrobe in a Naija movie it never bodes well for the finder.
For example an earthenware pot that is supposed to be in the backyard kitchen, when it is in the wardrobe of a Patience Ozokor movie.
What is it?
It is a pot of blood used to enslave the wealth of her kinsmen.
If it is in the wardrobe of Pete edochie movie it must contain some body part wrapped , of course in red cloth purposely for money rituals.
I think I’ll just avoid the whole chafing dish idea, you never know who might be coming over and peep in my wardrobe.(You know how nosey we Africans can be)
And that person and having been fed a steady diet of Nigerian movies, (as we all have somewhere in between childhood and adulthood) will not have the courage to ask what the fuck a chafing dish is doing in your wardrobe?
Neither will he or she have the gall to lift the lid and find out it is just make up (No God forbid we all know how that pans out in the movies for curious cats, cue in badly made lighting cinema effects).
The poor sod will just conclude that I am in some sort of ancestral cult with an unmentionable, foreboding name. Hmm.
Oh forgive me I meander a sign of old age I guess.
Back to the point. Life is too short to let little things eat up your day. Let us just pack them up, cover them and fit them somewhere until we need them and focus on the bigger picture.
When I do find that container for my makeup I shall buy it with glee and throw all my make up in and live happily ever after. One less thing to stress myself over as I age gracefully.