Adventures in Writing: The Dangers of Lip Gloss

Story behind the Story

Wednesday, Jayne, and I were having a rowdy conversation when someone (maybe Weds) lamented about no one ever writing about women being on their periods or cramps. And then somehow lip gloss came up and how hair sticks it to it so it’s just not worth the trouble, regardless of how fun it is. And somehow this silly story came to be.

It took many moons for me to finish it. But… well, here you go.


When your hair gets stuck in your lip gloss_
borrowed from pinterest

Alternative Title 1: Gust Reaction

“Ahhhhgony. Can’t you hear it in my voice? You’re running downtown anyway, right?” I growled at my roommate. I don’t know what the hell I did to piss off my body, but hot damn, I regretted it.

“I am, but I’m not coming back, remember? It’s my night to stay with the kids.” The whine in her voice showed me just how bad she felt.

“Uggggh… okay, right. Kids are important. Be my mom for a minute and rub my head and tell me I’m not gonna die?” My whine mirrored her whine. Damn, for a couple of bad ass bitches, we were losing all our points today.

“Of course.” She stepped into my room, petted my hair with the gentlest touch and looked down at me with the false sincerity you want your mom to have. “You’re going to make it through this tough time. You’re a bad ass. Don’t forget that.”

And then I burst into tears. “OH god, you make me miss my mom. I gotta call my mom. Fucking hormones.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to!” She held up her hands like I was holding a gun.

Becca stepped slowly backwards to the door, keeping her eyes on me like I might decide to tackle her any moment. It was a good plan. Always keep the crazy lady in your sights. Becca gave me a sheepish look. She really did feel bad.

“I’ll find a way to get what I need. Get outta here before you’re late.” I threw the clump of tissues in her general direction. It floated for a moment and then fell to the floor. I should’ve balled it up first.

Alternative Title 2: Punch in the Gust Love

Once I heard the front door shut, I coaxed myself out of bed. Nausea assailed at me but I beat it back. I had to get to the store. Glancing around my room, I grabbed jeans and a hoodie. I got to the door heading towards the garage and threw on my boots and went to grab my car keys.

“Car keys… where the hell… oh fuck me.”

Heading back to the bedroom, I stripped out of my boots and jeans and hoodie to put on leather pants, a long-sleeved shirt, and my leather jacket. And then stuffed my feet into the damn boots again. I grabbed the helmet catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. “Yikes.”

I dealt with my curls, swiped on mascara and lip gloss, then headed back towards the garage.

“This is going to fucking suck.” Normally, I loved a quick jaunt on the bike, but today, urgh.

Proud of myself for not tossing my cookies inside the helmet, I parked the bike and headed into the store. The wind was gusting today so I waited until I was in the alcove to remove the helmet. It was useful as a basket while I grabbed tampons, pads, and over-the-counter maximum relief meds.

Alternative Title 3: No Gust, No Glory

As I wandered back to the front, I swiped a vitamin-infused water out of the cooler and a bag of dark chocolate off the shelf. It couldn’t hurt, right? Hydration and chocolate are good for you.

A wave of nausea hit me when I caught a whiff of the woman behind the counter. Stale smoke, sweat, and perfume. My period loved heightening my sense of smell one-thousand times normal. It really made leaving the house difficult.

“Oh, wow, you look like you had rough night, honey.” She smiled sweetly at me. Her eyes held some smidge of compassion in their watery depths, I’m sure.

Probably not.

“No worries, I’ll live.” Oh fuck, now I could taste the smells. It took a shit ton of willpower to pay for my stuff and not urk all over the counter and her. I didn’t think it would improve on her scent at all. Maybe it would cover up the others?

Finally escaping with a receipt longer than the Nile River, I headed to stuff my purchases into my side saddle and skedaddle.

A gust of wind grabbed my hair and whipped it around my head enough that I thought I’d suffocate. I couldn’t prevent the squeak from escaping.

An extra set of hands rescued me from my hair. I spit out the strands stuck in my mouth. They didn’t go far because they were also stuck in my lip gloss.

The man in front of me cocked an eyebrow, slick grin on his face. He swiped the stuck strands gently away.

Alternative Title 4: Boys Cramp My Style

“Hi there. I’m Gary.”

“Ugh, not today Gary.” I sidestepped passed him and shoved the pads and tampons into the saddlebag. After fighting with the childproof cap and the tamper proof foil, I swallowed three pills. Okay, so I choked on them until I popped the top on the vitamin water and chugged it.

I put the lids back on and let a belch loud enough to scare nearby pigeons and Gary.

“Oh, gross.” Gary didn’t sound impressed with my burping skills.

“Oh, come on, Gary. Don’t be like that. You know deep down you enjoyed it.” I half-assed a wink, straddled my iron horse, put my helmet back on and headed back home, mood lightened by a stranger rescuing me from the dangers of lip gloss.

So, what have we learned friends? Having some other writer-folx around to chat, vent, and be silly can create something as ridiculous as this. And for the record, I may have caused Queen Jayne to spit coffee yesterday when I sent her the ending of this story. #SorryNotSorry


Enjoy So What by PINK

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