Just before I left work today I ducked into the women’s room to pee.  I was washing my hands when I looked up to see a thick streak of Clinique’s Coffee lipstick smeared up the left side of my face.  It wasn’t a small smudge or a slight bleeding of color, but a giant mark that looked like a gash.  I had waited on four tables since I last reapplied that lipstick. 

I had served drinks and plated desserts and opened a bottle of wine and talked to my co-workers for a half hour and every single person neglected to tell me I had lipstick up to my ear.  I wiped it as best I could and immediately found another server to ask her why she’s hadn’t said anything.  She claimed to not have seen it. 

I left work shortly thereafter and went straight to the bank.  While waiting for the teller to deposit my cash I listened to a woman training another woman on the computer.  In the midst of talking about interest rates and IRAs she farted really loudly and for a long time.  The male teller who was counting my money smiled broadly, but never skipped a beat.  My eyes hit the floor but not before getting a look at the offending lady whose face burned hot enough to melt snow.  Her trainee sat startled and silent beside her.

My shoe made a wet vibrating noise on the freshly waxed floors just before I hit the door, and I had to laugh once outside at the ridiculousness of it all.  Only an hour before I was mortified I’d walked around telling people about the delicious Arctic char with a red smear of makeup on my face, but OMG, the trainer lady at the bank TOTALLY FARTED.