This is the first in a new feature: Ask Facegoop. Send us your questions and we will mock them. Nah, we’ll answer them if we can. Maybe.
First up, Expectant Mum says:
“I need help. I am three months pregnant and would like to know your recommendations for preventing (or trying to prevent) those ghastly stretch marks”.
I asked M to join me but she refused, saying “I don’t have much to say about pregnancy stretch marks”. Well. That’s FINE because I do.
Dear Expectant Mother,
Congratulations! You have so much to look forward to! Childbirth, which is of course a carnival of unicorns and kittens and rose petals, aging ten years in the first three months of your baby’s life, those delightful post natal sweats as you expel all the water you have been retaining for six months, and much much more. Stretchmarks? Pah! We can deal with those. We are MOTHERS. MUTHAS, even. RAAAAAWR.
Here is E’s patented stretchmark prevention scheme:
1. Have a small baby. Ensure the father is small. Ideally tiny. A jockey would be perfect.
2. Have your baby early. I was fine up until around 39 weeks. Unfortunately both my babies went 2 weeks overdue and I could actually see the stretchmarks forming, minute by minute, hour by hour as I stood in front of the mirror screaming “COME OUT DAMN YOU!”. Perhaps you could be a celebrity and book in for a planned Caesarian at 36 weeks, ensuring a cutely tiny baby AND time to fit in that all important tummy tuck?
Full disclosure here, Goopers. After 2 nine pound babies emerged from my small, if lardy frame, I did have a tummy tuck. It was horrifically painful and expensive, but totally worth it, because an umbilical hernia is just not showbiz. However I still have stretch marks. Life’s a bitch. I wear one piece swimsuits. Actually, who am I kidding? I don’t wear swimsuits at all, I lurk on the beach in a Demis Roussos kaftan pretending I’m allergic to salt water.
3. As for products, well. I used that Clarins Tonic Oil, so you can disregard any good effects of that. Useless. Other people swear by Bio Oil. But you know what I think? It’s genetics. Pure genetics. I’ll be crossing my fingers for you. Shall I tell you what does work though? Perineal massage. Too much information? Yes, I thought so, but being able to sit down without the assistance of an inflatable doughnut is a price worth paying.
M: E, I need to show you something before I pass out.
E: Will I like it? Is it an eagle? Or a pony?
M: Unlikely. And no, it is neither an eagle nor a pony.
E: Uh oh. Go on.
M: Do you like belly button fluff?
E: NO! I don’t like where this is going.
M: Right. Well, check this out:
E: Eeeeeeeeeew! What in the name of holy hell is THAT?
M: Yeah. That shit came off my FACE.
E: OH GOD.You’ve been back to the diamond hoover, haven’t you?
M: Yup. That, my friend, is the shit that’s been hoovered off my face. Dead skin cells. Makeup residue. Crud. The nice lady gave it to me in a little plastic zip bag to take home, when I asked if I could take a picture of it.
E: Oh GOD. You took your dead skin cells home with you. That’s gross
M: Yeah.
E: Though, I suppose I am carrying mine around with me too. ON MY FACE.
M: It’s my new pet. I talk to it at night.
“Hey you. How are you doing? Aren’t you much happier in this little plastic bag?”
E: You’ve managed to gross me out. I thought I could withstand any amount of gross. I live with two small boys and a dog. Eh ben, bravo.
M: “My face is so much smoother and cleaner without you”.
E: If I’d known this would happen, I would never have started this stupid blog.
M: “My pores are smaller. My angry monkey face has gone. I don’t really mind going out with no makeup”
E: You’re talking. TO DEAD SKIN CELLS.
M: You saw me recently though. Isn’t my skin much better? ISN’T IT?
E: Yeah. Your skin looks great. Glowy. Fresh. Really really good. It’s your brain I’m worried about.
M: It’s a small price to pay, E, it’s a small price to pay.
We have a small, teeny tiny confession to make. The Important Facegoop Fact Finding Mission turned out to be more of a mission to imbibe gin, inhale lamb chops, and meet lovely new people, like this girl and this girl.
But we did learn important lessons in the Great Metropolis, which we share here for your edification and amusement.
M’s London Wisdom:
- eating out for breakfast, lunch and dinner five days in a row is not as good as it sounds. Especially if two of those meals were 100% lamb chops. My thighs are chafing. My painfully itch and inflated ankles are in a strop right now, and currently looking for new owners.
- Priori’s Skin Renewal Cream is da bomb. The harsh London water and even harsher London sleeping hours usually make me erupt in boils but I’ve woken up to calm, plump, glowing skin in the morning. Either that, or the lamb sweats have aesthetically beneficial side effects.
- Body Brushing and Weleda Cellulite Oil instantly alleviate Heavy Cankle Syndrome.
- Eye makeup remover wipes are like teeny tiny face wipes – handy for carrying in your handbag and great after you’ve disastrously rubbed tube-soot all over your face.
- Do not apply nail polish on 4 hours of sleep. Do not go to a picnic without sunscreen. Do not assume your hosts will have shampoo or shower gel.
- Sandals look like crap on blistered feet with nasty unpolished toe nails. My feet may be looking for new owners too. Anyone want them?
E’s London Wisdom
- Just because your new shoes are flat, that doesn’t mean they won’t sting like bitches. Compeed is simply not up to the job. Don’t wear new shoes if you’re walking ANYWHERE in the heat. End of.
- Body Brushing and Weleda Cellulite Oil with my current diet and lifestyle are like trying to clean up the BP oil spill with a single Tesco’s Value cotton bud. Completely inadequate, but better than nothing.
- Salted caramel is not a health food.
- Nor is white wine. Or gin.
- Nurofen Rapid Action Capsules totally are a health food. So is frozen yoghurt even though it’s probably more fattening than eating the same cubic volume of lard.
- Benefit Creaseless Cream Shadow in Strut is a gorgeous texture, and a beautiful evening colour for cadaver skinned celts.
- Two wrong eyed contact lenses don’t make a right. You might end up in the wrong south western city when you leave London is you’re not careful with your lefts and rights.
I’m finally home. My calves have the appearance and consistency of hardened swiss roll, and I am covered in a fine layer of lamb sweat, tube grime, and travel despair.
So here, in this followup to E’s travel essentials video, I show you how lack of sleep and incompetence make for crap cosmetic packing and poor results on the Facegoop Maths front.
You’ll notice I’m too tired to string more than two words together convincingly. Whatevs dudes.
Team Facegoop are in London! I don’t know why I call us Team Facegoop. It makes us sound like Team Rocket from Pokemon and that is NOT a good thing.
Anyway. M has already told me my left foot looks like her sister’s cat’s hernia, but I’m not rising to the bait. Instead we’re concentrating on bringing you Exciting New Content.
First up, this video in which I look like a shiny, sweaty lunatic and tell you about what I’ve brought along in my make up and toilet bags.
E’s Toilet Bag
Braun Professional Straighteners
Toni & Guy Iron It Heat Defence Spray
Nuxe Bio-Beauté Fruity Micellar Cleansing Foam
L’Oréal NutriBronze
Skin.NY Radical Restructure Complex (“chemical warfare in a tube”)
Caudalie Anti-Ageing Face Suncare SPF 30
Chanel Dragon Nail Colour
OPI We’ll Always Have Paris Nail Lacquer
Body Shop Body Brush
Dove Invisible Dry Deodorant
Serge Lutens Sa Majesté La Rose
Weleda Birch Cellulite Oil
Nurofen Plus
No hair brush, toothbrush, toothpaste
E’s Make Up Bag
Nars The Multiple, in Orgasm
Nars Lip gloss in Turkish Delight
Nars Shadow duo in Belissima
Nars Aigle Noir Soft Touch Shadow Pencil
Laura Mercier Secret Camouflage
2 identical Laura Mercier concealer brushes
Laura Mercier compact blusher brush
Laura Mercier Tinted Moisturiser
Armani Face Fabric
Armani Blush Duo
Armani Eye Shadow in Maestro
Bobbi Brown Gel Eyeliner in Espresso and Caviar
Bobbi Brown Ultra fine eyeliner brush
Coco Mademoiselle lip colour
Tom Ford Pink Dusk lip colour
E: Not only did it have no discernible effect, it didn’t even make me BELIEVE it was having an effect.
M: Was it nice to put on?
E: No, it sat on the surface of my bumpy skin like snail goo, mocking me. It’s just green snail slime.
M: And we all know how that goes. One minute you’re putting snail goo on your legs, the next you “accidentally” break the jar.
E: See, I liked the previous Vichy cellulite nonsense cream. But this one? PAH. Maybe my legs have just become more resistant in the last year?
M: Probably. Or maybe the Vichy people are tarnishing their good name (splutter) with inferior products. See what I did there? Historical joke. You don’t get those on your proper regular beauty blog.
E: Yup. It’s the Maréchal Pétain of creams. Without the moustache.
M: In a nice friendly rebranded green tube. So, did it “accidentally” find its way into the bin then?
E: Nah. It’s still in the cupboard, but it fills me with indifference. I won’t be doing lunges in skimpy black pants any time soon.
M: I notice she has no neck in that picture. You don’t have neck cellulite, do you?
E: No! I don’t think so. I don’t know. Argh! Now you’re making me paranoid. I think I have chin cellulite.
M: Ha. There’s no such thing, you nutjob.
E: Well if there was, I wouldn’t be putting Vichy Cellu-Destock on mine.
E: It’s time for Facegoop to stage our first intervention, M.
M: Yes. And it’s directed at Lush. Listen up, LUSH, you hemp clad bimbo.
E: Noone wants to tell you this because they are too polite BUT YOU STINK. YOU STINK STINK STINK.
M: YOU STINK TO HIGH HEAVEN. What the hell are you anyway? A flower shop? A perfumery for grannies? Some dodgy prostitute’s underpants??? MMMMMM????
E: It’s for children and hippies, M. Ones who think they are too good for the Body Shop.
M: Yes. Hippies. Hippie tramps. Who would like to think they could make their own cosmetics, but are just too fucking lazy to do it.
E: IN OUR DAY WE HAD THE BODY SHOP AND LIKED IT. Have you ever tried one of their “bath bombs”, M?
M: Bath bomb. What the fuck is that. Why would I want a bomb in my bath.
E: It’s like, this giant ball of super smelly Lush crap that you put in the ball it fizzes like a Berocca and your bath goes scummy, artifically smelling and SLIMY.
M: Wow. That’s great. If I wanted scum, I’d go bathe in cow water.
E: But it’s fun! It fizzes! we use KERAZY fonts on our products!
M: You know what else I hate, Lush? The stupid names you give your products
E: Like what?
M: “Devils on horsebacks”. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?? That’s a victorian breakfast dish.
E: What? They are PRUNES IN BACON aren’t they? WTF lush. Leave the lameass jokes to Bliss.
M: I DO NOT WANT TO SCRUB MY FACE IN PRUNES, LUSH.
E: Whirl a couple of bath bombs in socks around and you have guaranteed M and I’s hatred forever. Ugh, I am getting an allergic reaction just thinking about Lush. My eyes are watering and my throat is closing up.
M: I’m sneezing. And wheezing a little bit. And also feeling the rage. UGH. Just the WORD “Lush” makes me want to retch. You are like someone else’s crazy grandmother, Lush. One who thinks she could still get frisky. And who likes to feel her boobs up AT YOU.
E: LUSH: YOU’RE A TOXIC GRANDMOTHER. If you were our granny, we’d put you in a home and never visit.
M: Yes. We’d pretend we didn’t know you.
E: “No, I don’t know why she’s shouting my name. Poor old dear, she’s obviously lost her wits”.
M: We’d hire a nice normal grandmother to pretend to be you. Like, maybe, Estee Lauder.
E: Yeah. Estee Lauder’s our nan now. Not you.
M: Get out of my sight, Lush.
E: And take those balls in socks with you.
Do you love Lush? Stand up for your granny in the comments. Or share the hate with us. Go on. You’ll feel better instantly.
It’s summer, when people wear floral playsuits with no sense of irony and when Facegoop’s fancy turns to .. ice cream. And where there’s ice cream, there are wobbly thighs. So for the next few weeks we’ll be bringing you an epic follow up to the Water Diaries, the Cellulite Diaries. Be afraid, be very afraid.
M
Cellulite. I haz it. I have had it ever since I stopped doing 5 hours of ballet a week and started to eat Nachos for breakfast. I am plagued by terrible circulation, a strong desire for tasty salted pork parts, and a deep rooted hatred of exercise. I have recently instituted a daily ice cream break in my studio for the summer months. This has led me to:
The Vital Statistics:
Thigh circumference: 25. 5 inches.
Calf circumference : 17.5 inches.
Number of ridiculous lotions tried: too many to recall.
Number of ridiculous lotions that were unpleasantly sticky: all of them.
Number of giant bruises from cycling: 7
Amount of cellulite dislodged: non-existent.
The expectations:
Low. Looking at the statistics above, I realize just one of my thighs is the same size as other people’s WAISTS. Not even freaky people’s waists. Just, people.
I know my legs will not be replaced by ones worthy of an antelope overnight, or, indeed, ever. In fact a doctor recently told me I was bow-legged, which left a nice happy song in my heart. Thanks, doc.
I’d just like to be able to wear an above-the-knee skirt in the sweltering heat of Paris this summer. DO YOU HEAR ME, CELLULITE GODS??? IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?
The weapons:
Body brushing: E has talked me into this. She says it works if you do it obsessively, so I have, like an obedient, distraught puppy, started brushing myself every morning before my shower. It makes me feel rather like a pony being given his daily cleanse, minus the strong pony odour. Oddly comforting. And what do you know? It works. My skin is much softer, and possibly even stronger. Win.
Weleda Birch Cellulite Oil. It’s delightfully warming and the legologist says it works. It is backed up by some impressive and wonderfully germanic statistics. After 28 days, visible improvement of skin structure in 85% of cases, 20-25% increase in microcirculation, and a measurable thigh loss of 3.95 cms. This is getting slathered onto the drumsticks every evening, and my legs feel light, refreshed and hydrated afterwards. The boyfriend says I smell of ginger. Whatevs. The Oil is here to stay.
The Bicycle. My two wheeled love. I cycle every day but usually only for relatively short trips. I am going to make the most of the long, light, balmy (cough cough) Scottish summer and increase the number of 30 minute trips. Oh yes I am. Yes I am yes I am yes I AM.
Phew, that was tiring. Pass me an ice cream, E?
E
M and I bonded early on over our love of cellulite snake oil, pants with outlandish shrinking claims, spiked rollers to squish our thighs into submission. I love all that stuff. I’ve had hatchet faced Breton women pummel my thighs with a power hose, been wrapped in all manner of gloop, spent ages wobbling on a Power Plate.
No more. Now I have cellulite AND I’m poor. I don’t know if I’ll have to wear a swimming costume in the Isle of Wight in August, but I fear there’s a strong possibility, and my thighs are‚ well. They’ve seen better days. I try not to look. I’m typing this eating salted caramel chocolate which tells you everything you need to know about my diet. My only exercise is walking the dog, and when I say ‘walking’, I mean ‘sitting on a bench while the dog unearths old kebabs and condoms in the park’.
The vital statistics
Thigh circumference: 22 inches
(I’m not measuring my calves because I know there’s no way in hell I’ll be putting cellulite potions on them. They’re fine. They’re, you know, calf sized) .
Number of potions tried: Infinity plus
Number of bruises from drunken incidents: loads. Not sure. At least 5 big ones.
Amount of cellulite dislodged: At the moment I’m operating at a net gain of cellulite of 12 cm3 per annum.
The rot must stop.
The expectations
Since I won’t be exercising or eating less, I don’t really have any expectations, but if I can get my thighs a little smoother and less, uh, GROSS, that would be great. If I can replace my body and face with those of Christy Turlington, so much the better.
The weapons
Trusty cheapo body brush - it’s easy, it feels like it’s doing something, and skin definitely feels softer after use.
Weleda Birch Cellulite Oil – M was impressed so I bought some. And what’s good enough for the Legologist is definitely good enough for me. I worship that woman. I have only used a couple of times. It’s, well, oily, but there’s a sort of tightening sensation that seems promising.
For the rest, well. I’ll try and drink some water and eat some vegetables. Can’t say fairer than that.
So here goes nothing: Cellulite Plan 2010 is go. It can’t be as bad as The Water Diaries, right?
E: I LOVE a doctor. I’m like those old ladies that make up illnesses just to get to see the doctor. Mmmmm. Doctors are LOVELY. Even ones who don’t have testicle necklaces like our friend Dr Mystery.
M: Well, check this guy out.
He has it all.
Greying hair? Check
Lab coat? Check
Diagrams? Check
Freakishly smooth skin? CHECK.
E: Wow. Who is this awesome doctor, M? I totally want a piece of him.
M: Well, I want some of his freakishly effective science. The Cellular Water science. He is… DR MURAD.
E: Dr Murad! He sounds smooth. And sciencey.
M: Indeed. Take a look at this: ”the Science of Cellular Water looks at the ability of cell membranes to hold water within a cell as the fundamental marker of youthful good health.”
E: Cellular water eh? What is that? Water made out of, er, cells?
M: Or is it cells made out of water? The mind boggles. The diagrams aren’t helping.
E: But hang on a cotton picking minute, M. My cells are not SQUARE. That picture looks like a Battenburg cake! Not skin.
M: No, that’s just a cross section. But yes, think of it as, erm, a portion of cake. Anyway, Dr. Murad makes lots of products that I believe are generally well thought of in the Industry.
E: Where has Dr Murad come from? What kind of a name is Murad?
M: Who knows. But all of his execs are also called Murad.
E: It’s a family affair like.. THE MAFIA. Or, um, the Baldwins.
M: No, it’s like that Being John Malkovich film. Where John Malkovich walks into his own head and everyone there is JOHN MALKOVICH. Except here everyone is WEARING A LAB COAT. And saying “MURAD MURAD MURAD” while offering you cellular water.
E: Ahahahahaha. YES. “Being Dr Murad”. If Facegoop ever moves into film production, our first feature will be Being Dr Murad.
M: Nightmarish. But you’ll be pleased to know that the Dr’s products are not a nightmare.
E: Oh, and what have you tried from Dr Murad’s Cellular Water Lab?
M: I have bought his Oil-Free Sunblock Sheer Tint SPF 15, and it is ACE. Its only active ingredient is Titanium Dioxide, which doesn’t seem to irritate my skin and make it blotchy. I can’t feel it on.
None of this crappy sticky white sand texture on your face à la Liz Earle, and great under makeup too. It’s only SPF 15, but it protects you from sun and free radical damage, which I think is what you get when you hang out with commies.
E: Hmmm. Singeing with a copy of Das Kapital. That kind of thing?
M: Yup. I have not wanted to sing the Internationale once since using this. Also my skin is moist, evened out, and glowing. WIN.
E: I feel a little weak at this cosmetic success.
M: Go and lie down, E. I’ll get the doctor to bring you a poultice.
E: Hang on. Before you go, is he very expensive?
M: Not too bad. £20.59, though it’s a bit hard to find around here in greying Scotchland. But here’s a handy link to our amazon watchamacallit:
E: Yes, I suppose so. Noone else will talk to me about sloths and killing and despair and the evil of POI.
M: Then we should have something to celebrate this. Like, a slumber party. And friendship bracelets. Or, no, one of those love heart necklaces that break in 2.
E: Can’t we just do KILLING? And GIN?
M: Hmmm. You are not really in the spirit of this.
E: Sorry. Ok, slumber party! Whoop! YEAH! We could braid each other’s hair even though mine isn’t real.
M: Ha, and even though mine is a nest for small animals, like ferrets and meerkats.
E: Yeah, on second thoughts, forget about the braiding.
M: OK, how about some identi-makeup?
E: Yeah! Because we both have NARS MULTIPLES.
M: Yes! What’s yours?
E: Mmmmmm. Embarassingly I have the notorious ‘Orgasm’. You?
M: I have the much classier Portofino. You are Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. I am Gwynnie “Goop” Paltrow in Mr Ripley.
E: Hmmm. I know it’s vulgar, but I love it. A man with bad acne made me buy it in Liverpool Street.
M: Was this in the actual street?
E: Noooo, in Space NK. It’s not knock off, under the coat, Nars. I wouldn’t dare do that to the faceless consortium behind “Mr” “Nars”. I only buy from authorised stockists. How much do you love your multiple, M?
M: Well, to be honest, I am not that super fond of it. I mean, it’s nice, and the colour is pretty and everything. But I find it a bit hard to blend, and I have very strong, lustful feelings for the Armani Fluid Sheer, who will be mine one day, all mine.
E: Ha. Whereas Orgasm, I do pretty much love. I have much classier, better behaved blushers. Like the pink half of my Armani creme blush duo and a nice Laura Mercier but Orgasm has SPARKLY BITS and it is deliciously vulgar, like a second division footballer’s wife.
M: Where do you put yours?
E: Cheekbones. Very occasionally lips. Pop of blusher with the Armani bronzier colour under the cheekbone? You?
M: Snap. And sometimes eyes. Never lips, it’s a bit dry. WOOH! MULTIPLE BFFS!
E: Wooooh! Can we kill stuff now or should we talk about the product a bit more?
M: Nah, everyone knows what it is. Let’s go spit at grannies in the street.
M: I need to prepare for my finals. And by finals, I mean the 2 months in the summer when I have No Income.
E: Oh yes. I am familiar with this field of academic study.
M: To be honest, my cosmetics budget has gone through the roof since we started this idiotic blog serious online beauty publication.
E: Yes. I noticed. You are in the grip of powerful cosmetic forces, making you buy 65 quid eyeshadow palettes.
M: Powerful cosmetic forces = brain washing. Oooh, an equation.
E: It’s all about the equations, M. All will be well for the summer, because you will be doing a crash course in FACEGOOP MATHS.
M: What kinds of Facegoop Maths are there, Professor Beddington?
E: When you call me that, it’s like you’re talking to my dad, but never mind. First phase: Division.
M: Right. I’m turning my book to page 123.
E: Please do. Then think of something you really really want. Say, a Tom Ford lipstick for instance
M: Right. A Remington IPL laser pixie hair removal device.
E: 38 quid.
M: 350 quid.
E: WHOA!
M: This is not going well for me.
E: It’s ok, we’ll just have to take the Facegoop Maths to a higher level. It’s a good thing professorness runs in the Beddington family. RIGHT. Think of the thing. Think about how often you will use it. Tom Ford lipstick – daily for ooooh, two years? And the hair thing?
M: Three times and then give up.
E: NO.
M: Ok, weekly, for years.
E: Better. Now, divide the purchase price by number of times used. Say, 6 million. Then that gives you a daily cost for the thing you want of VIRTUALLY NOTHING.
M: Right. Mine comes down to £29 per month. Which I’d happily pay for a month of less stubbly legs. Let’s just gloss over the fact that I would be too lazy to use it. Human emotions are not factored in to Facegoop Maths.
E: No. It’s pure SCIENCE. Win! Next phase of Facegoop maths?
M: I have a a theorem about cheap foundation to share.
E: Be gentle. My head is hurting a bit. With all this, you know, algebra.
M: I’m not wearing a bra.
E: Nor am I, it’s too hot. but this isn’t FILTHY TRIPLE X HOT SLUTS CHAT. STAY ON TOPIC.
M: Sorry, right. So, Armani Foundation. Lovely Armani foundation.
E: Lovely. 28 of your British pounds or something.
M: £32. That seems expensive, doesn’t it. BUT.
In my drawer, I have:
Mymix foundation: 12.99
Maybelline Pure Liquid Mineral: 7.99
No 7 essentially natural foundation: £13
Barefaced Beauty foundation kit: £12
E: That’s a lot of semi-cheapo foundation. And do you use any of this cheapo stuff?
M: Do I fuck. I am the proud owner of £45.98 of festering cheapo foundation. And by the magic of subtraction £45.98 cheapo crap – £32 Armani silkiness = I have actually saved myself £13.98 by buying the Armani foundation.
E: You totally have. Thank GOD we went through this. FACEGOOP MATHS WIN!
M: YES. WIN. And the £13.98 can go towards the eye wateringly expensive Mediterranean palette.
E: Next in Facegoop Maths, I was hoping you could help me with my multiplication, M. I am having difficulty with my Benetint table.
M: Right.
E: 1 Benetint x 1 bathroom cupboard = 4 Benetints. HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?????
M: Listen up, fool. 1 Benetint x 1 = £23.50 1 Benetint x 2 =?
E: £47.Thank god they multiply asexually in my cupboard and I never have to buy them (OH GOD I AM CRYING HERE. 47 QUID ON BENETINT? )
M: 1 Benetint x 4 = ? Mmmmmmmmmmmm?
E: Nooooooooooooooooooooooo. Maybe I stole them? I really hope I stole them.
M: Nope. You spent £94 of your precious, precious squids. It’s a shame I gave mine away to my little sister.
E: Oh man I will never EVER buy Benetint again. Especially when you realize I could have got ARMANI FLUID SHEER for that.
M: This has been most enlightening. I feel a bit more prepared, Professor Beddington. Time for double biology now.
E: Yes. I am glad I came to the Facegoop Maths tutorial.
M: But I think I’ve just been a little sick in my mouth. We spend too much money, don’t we? Facegoop Maths suck.
E: Or M’s going to end up in prison for nicking Bunsen Burners and I’ll get apprehended in St Pancras Boots with fifteen Benetints stuffed down my pants.
E: As surgeons, we hold life in our hands every day. Our every decision could mean the difference between life and death. As surgeons, our eye shadow can mean the difference between life and death.
M: Who are you talking to?
E: The viewers, M. Or should that be Yang.
M: [Rolls eyes].
E: I am doing a Voiceover. A tediously repetitive and overwrought voiceover. To be repeated at the end of the post.
M: Right, well while you are busy having fun with your little friends the McViewers, I have more important things to do. Like fixing this SERVER, Grey.
E: Oh god, we hadn’t thought this through. I don’t want to be Grey.
M: YOU ARE TOTALLY GREY.
E: Oh god. Ok. Forget about the server. The server is not important. Leave the server Cristina. We need to have intense girlish chat. You must be abrasive and full of good sense. I must be annoyingly wet.
M: Oh, the server is important. How can you say the server is not important? Seriously? Seriously? The server is important. I was left at the altar because of the server.
E: No. Seriously? This isn’t even ABOUT the server. Stop talking about the server. We need to talk about something more important. There are more important things than the server, Cristina.
M: Fine. Let’s talk about you, Meredith. You and your subtly defined eyes.
E: Thank you Cristina. Your eyes are also subtly defined. As surgeons, our eyes must be defined.
M: Yes, even though you can barely see them because of how much I am rolling them around in their sockets.
E: Should we sit on a gurney to talk about this?
M: Sure, yeah, whatever. I am going to stare moodily in the distance, exuding scorn and disdain from every inch of my porcelain skin.
E: Why do you think we surgeons love taupe so much?
M: Because it is work appropriate. And also, universally flattering. We’re all about the universal love, here at whatever the fuck this hospital is called.
E: Facegoop Grace Hospital. What taupe are you using Cristina? Will you tell me what it is if I get you an amazing surgery? With pulsating hearts for you to hold in your bare hands?
M: I have a nice one from No.7. And I also mix two of the colours from my armani palette. That is because, unlike you pathetic interns, as a surgeon, I like to experiment with cutting edge techniques.
Ei: You practise obsessively in the scrub room, don’t you? For hour after single-minded hour, blending.
M: Yes. When I am not busy snogging inappropriate men. And by inappropriate, I mean crazy.
E: Can I tell you about MY taupe?
M: What’s your taupe, Meredith? I bet it is earnest. So earnest.
E: I use Armani Mono Shadow in “Maestro”.
M: Predictable. Reliable.
E: You know what Cristina? It is GOOD. The taupe is GOOD. It makes me feel good about taupe.
M: Good. It’s good taupe.
E: I never thought I would say this, but taupe? It’s GOOD. Good taupe.
M: It certainly is. It is good.
E: The goodest of good taupes. Taupe. Good. Is it voiceover time?
M: [Rolls eyes].
E: As surgeons.. nah, forget it. I’m bored.
M: Let’s go throw fruit at that annoying blonde girl. Is she dead yet?
, £12.10
