Covering the Ugliness

Well, we're in the full flush of the holiday season, and despite my love for tinsel and merriment, I'm nevertheless upset.
Which can only mean that I've been forced to go into a department store recently.

I hate department stores in March. Hate them in August.
I loathe them in December.

My girlfriend asked me to pick her up a particular product line of blush that she can't find where she lives and of course, I agreed to do it.
I thought I was a good guy to agree to this - turns out I'm a saint.

Nordstrom. High noon. 20 days before Christmas.

I decided before I left to put on a blazer and a pair of shiny shoes. I was fully aware that I hadn't a clue where to look for makeup and that I would end up doing something stupid before I was through. Because of this, I wanted to at least look as if I was respectable in some other facet - outside of shopping for products I never use.
And yes all you smartasses, I am aware that I'm not respectable in any other facet of my life, but the girl spritzing me with gay-smell doesn't need to know that.

And so there I was, wearily traipsing up and down the aisles unsure what a Smashbox is, but positive that it is the brandname of the (Perfume? Lipstick? Eh, we'll go with "stuff") stuff that my girlie wanted.
I had to admit to being fairly proud of her request. She could have asked me to buy Clinique or Estee Lauder which would have required I practice my broken French. And that would have added insult to injury, so I was thankful that she put Smashbox on her face instead of Estee Lauder. I was a little confused though because I was under the impression that Smashbox was a band from my senior year in high school.*
I'm a man, okay? At least I enjoy pretending I am, so you should understand that I'm not just going to walk up to the first person I see and blindly ask for help. No, no, no. I'm much too smartly dressed for that lollygaggery.
No. I'm going to walk up one aisle looking at all the multi-colored displays of meaningless goop and then down the other aisle doing the exact same thing. And because I'm an idiot, I'm going to do this seven or eight times without gaining any new information before I cave in and do what I should have done in the first place.

Ask for help.

I walk up to some girl and immediately fall back on my usual "I'm-a-stranger-in-a-strange-land-please-don't-make-me-beg"-schtick. Luckily, I was given explicit instructions as to what to purchase. In my hand I held a typewritten note instructing me to look for a Smashbox product in the "Soft Lights" line, the shade of which was "Highlight".
None of this meant anything to me, but I was thankful the information existed. Without it, I'd be sunk.
I read the piece of paper verbatium like the dunce in english class reciting a copied version of the plot synopsis on the back book jacket instead of doing a proper book report like everyone else.
The cashier knew where to look and I was relieved, but only a little. See, I 've done these kinds of things before. No matter how much I prepare, something goes wrong.
Have you ever offered to get someone coffee?
I don't drink coffee, but if I did and someone offered to get me one, I'd say, "Thanks," and then that's it. No cream or Splenda or whatever - because that would be too complicated. But people don't mind being complicated when I'm taking coffee orders. I always get a 37-syllable order that I don't understand because half of the request seemed to be in Russian. I write it down, but because I don't know what the Hell I'm talking about, I can't answer the curveballs those tricky coffee baristas inevitably throw.
So yeah. Something's gonna go wrong.

The product's in my hands now. I'm looking at it, it looks familiar - like the version my girlfriend showed me before, so I buy it. The blush (it's blush, right? It was either blush or colorful tobacco snuff. I'm not really sure how to use either) was no bigger than a yo-yo, and I realize that I haven't any idea how much a disk of blush costs.
My first mistake was taking its physical size into consideration. Those shenanigans might work with guys, 'cause when guys buy something big it takes up a lot of space. If I spend $10,000 dollars on something, that something is going to need its own house. When girls spend $10,000 on something, they can wear it or hide it in a handbag (which probably cost $40,000).
The cashier printed up the receipt and wrapped the pint-sized product in the crappy little Nordy's tissue paper. After putting the blush in the bag** she hands me the receipt. I looked at the price and was immediately compelled to glance back into the Nordstrom bag in hopes that the cashier accidentally sold me four or five of these damn things.
Sonuvabitch.
Do you have any idea how many Jr. Bacon Cheesburgers I coulda bought for the price of this... this... stuff that I don't even know the purpose of?
What is blush anyway? Is it supposed to hide the fact that you're blushing or make it look like you're blushing all the time? Does it hide blemishes?
Is blushing considered a blemish?
Did I really just forgo my kid's college education to help my already attractive girlfriend cover a little ugliness?
'Cause that seems like a Goddamned ripoff.

So ah-ha-ha. I live and I learn, right?
But wait. I'm not done yet, 'cause remember what I said? No matter how much I prepare for buying someone something, the purchase always gets messed up.
I'm in my car and I'm calling a loan agency to help me pay for this blush I just purchased when I actually take a close look at the stuff.
It is Smashbox.
It is from the Soft Light line of Smashbox's products, but the color on the box doesn't say Highlight, it says Smashing Highlight.

Smashing highlight?! What the hell...? Is that the same thing? Is it like Highlight only more smashing?
I don't know.
The term "highlight" when describing a color doesn't mean anything to me.
When I look into a crayon box and it says "Grey Oyster", that's okay. I can visualize the grey of an oyster. But what color is a highlight? And is that color different from a Goddamned smashing highlight? Is it like the difference between the green/blue and the blue/green colored pencils?
I don't know.
Smashing highlight.
Christ. So now, if it's the wrong color, I'm gonna look like a typical worthless male because I don't know shit about skin tones.
There. You caught me. I don't know shit about skin tones.
I also don't know if I'm an "autumn" or a "winter" or what.

I'm going to give her the Smashbox-Soft Lights-Smashing-friggin'-Highlight disk of blush and immediately after doing so, I'm going to find the person responsible for naming all these products and I'm gonna lock myself in a room with this fool until one of us is dead.
But I'M bringing a sock full of nickels.

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* Nope. That's Smashmouth.
** I didn't want a bag. It was shiny and had little string handles. I hate carrying less than five pounds of material in a bag with handles.