The following post contains disturbing information about make-up. If you are a man, you may wish to stop reading….that is, unless you are familiar with repairing drywall. In that case, please read on.
It’s a battle. I’m fighting with every scraper and paintbrush in my toolbox.
The dilemma? Trying to convince the make-up I apply in the morning to actually adhere to my FACE. About 2:00 pm the makeup has mysteriously disappeared, or worse, it has cemented itself into the rivulets and grand canyons on the porous landscape of my visage.
Being a fighter and problem-solver by nature, I sought to stop the southward flow of my Estee Lauder. After applying moisturizer in the morning, I follow with this spackle of wrinkle fillers.

Do I look like a martian after applying this green goo? I dunno….it’s supposed to take the ruddy redness out of my skin. After liberally smoothing this product over my face with a small putty knife, it’s time to apply foundation. No taping or sanding required during this step.
Next, I squirt some foundation onto my fingertips along with a blob of the following product.

I want excellent coverage and this keeps me from having to apply a second coat. Kinda serves the same function as KILLZ in covering black mold.
When the wall color is set, I work on the windows (eyes). Apply another eye primer and then the eyeshadow of my choice.
When the walls and windows are all set and smooth, THAT’S when I reach for the face shellac. This is the product to finish things off. Sort of a Gorilla Glue for ladies. The ultimate fixative!

That’s my morning drywall ritual. Easy enough (dripping sarcasm).
But, last Monday something went terribly wrong. When I grabbed the shellac and liberally sprayed my face to set the spackle and paint, I choked with the atomic fumes of an exploding navel orange. Seems I had picked up the wrong product. How had this little bottle made it from it’s home on the back of my toilet to my make-up table? (Texan!?….Roxy Doxy?)
Are you familiar with Crap Shooter?

It’s an outstanding product. But it makes for a pungent and inferno-like facial shellac.
I got extremely lucky this time. Really.
No one mistook my face for a toilet all day.
Thankful love to all.
Hysterical now but at the time it must have been terrible; mine’s call Poo-Pourri, I’ll be watching it closer now.
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