M: E, I’ve always wanted to be one of those effortlessly beautiful girls. You know the ones.
E: Yes. They don’t look like mole rats in the morning, damn them.
M: Tall, long limbs and what not. The tousled honey colored hair. The smattering of insouciant freckles
E: The radiance. Always with the radiance.
M: YES. That healthy surfer girl glow.
M: LITHE. That’s what they are, E. Radiantly LITHE.
E: We do NOT have long limbs, do we?
M: erm, no.
E: We actually couldn’t muster a long limb if we put all 8 of ours together
M:We have 8 limbs between the two of us? OH MY GOD. You know what that means, dont you E. DON’T YOU?? WE ARE AN OCTOPUS? Slurp slurp slurp. That’s the noise the tentacles make when they hold on to your face to drag you under.
E: I worry about you, M. Whatcha got in your octolimbs today for us?
M: We may not have long limbs, but I have something that might get us a bit of that healthy antipodean glow. BECCA.
E: Ah, Becca. It’s like Bondi Beach in a prettily frosted pump dispenser. Flat whites, er, wallabies, beer.. Er.. ok, I’m losing it. Help me out. It’s like a pump action baby marsupial, right?
M: Right. Soft. Fluffy. Glowy. Oh so glowy. Maybe not quite as furry.
E: What Becca do you have, M?
M: I have the luminous skin colour. Which is the acest tinted moisturiser there ever was. Remember how I described it as a fluffy marshmallow cloud?
Then you went and bought some.
E: I did. And I love it. But keep your voice down, because Laura Mercier is going to KILL US.
M: Oh yes, sssssh. What do you think of it?
E: It’s brilliant. It just makes me look .. better. Better than I have any right to look on my diet of vodka and hula hoops and staring at a screen for 19 hours a day. You got me so enthused I went back and got some shimmering skin perfector too because I want to glow like the gorgeously freshfaced girls on the becca counter.
M: I got the primer. We’re becoming Becca junkies.
E: Any good?
M: Yeah, it’s good shit. Like light polyfilla for your face, all the craggy bits just get smoothed away. Smoooooooooothed.
E: The skin perfector is a light, shimmering highlighter. I have “Opal”. It gives a soft glow. Small children and bunnies no longer recoil in horror when I walk past. It’s pretty damn glowy though. Only a tiny amount needed or you shine like a 1970s alien.
M: I am jealous. Jealous of the highlighting alien goodness. Does it diffuse? Like a gri gri?
E: Yes, it diffuses exactly like a voodoo accessory, yes M.
M: So. Becca. It wards off evil spirits, looks awesome, covers sallowness of skin and pockmarks, and the pump’s good.
E: What’s not to like?
M: The fact it makes you perma-shiny in a hot climate? And the price, E, the price.
E: Pfff, price, schmice. You get to look like Elle Macpherson’s hotter, erm, very much younger sister? Daughter perhaps. I DON’T KNW ANY HOT YOUNG AUSTRALIANS. RUSSELL CROWE?
M: Shhhh. Go lie down on a marshmallow cloud.