After nearly an hour of being battered by brushes like only a guy can, I finally felt prepared to look at what was on my face. I watched the product going onto the brush, I saw how much was there, I heard the "oops" and the "uhh's" and I was wiped down with q-tips various times.
Blushes were chosen in a random (uhh, these two!) fashion, and all of what I knew to be right in the world was slowly crumbling. You can only imagine my surprise when I brace myself and look in the mirror and see this !
Clearly he's been paying attention
By the way, I was eating a donut in this picture. Mr. Bisteries wanted to take pictures right away, but I wanted to eat a donut. So we had to compromise.
Mr. Bisteries also says that I have to admit to opening my eyes before my eyeliner was finished drying and smudging it a bit into the upper shadow.
In my defense I didn't know he was going to put on that many layers.
Same goes for the mascara! Sure, it doesn't look too clumpy now, but that's because it was meticulously groomed with a little metal eyelash comb. This was definitely the most traumatic experience of the whole event. I only got nicked once, but it was more the horror of staring into a row of metal spikes that aren't under my control. Even more intimidating was the fact that Mr. Bisteries' response to my "ow! You got my eyelid!" was "oh", and an impatient glance towards the comb.
And Mr. Bisteries himself! (One day soon I should post the pictures of his eyelashes. After a month of convincing he finally allowed me to apply mascara to his lashes. I was also horrified to note that his eyelashes are basically what I wish for in a mascara. IN EVERY BOTTLE I BUY I WISH. Bastard. I fear pretty soon he'll do makeup better than I can!)
