SarahI and I went to the mall today to polish off my chrismas shopping, and perpetuate (but not finish) hers.  While we were walking through Dillards, I saw a display on a makeup counter that had a mirror surrounded by black lights, which was surrounded by a black cloth.  Imagine an old-timey camera’s black hood, but with a black-lit mirror inside instead of a camera.  Before I even processed that it was part of a makeup counter’s sales display, I stuck my head in.  

I don’t know why I do these things.  I just do.  Perhaps it’s just curiosity.  Perhaps it’s my perpetual inability to think before I do.  I don’t know.  So there we were, walking towards the escalators and before I know what I’m doing, I’ve shoved my entire head into the display.  From the inside, I ask SarahI, who is standing behind me, “What’s this?!”  Probably the kind of question you want to ask before you go shoving your head into something, right?

Before Sarah could answer me, I figured out what it was.  It’s a humility machine.  Strolling through North Park Mall, mingling with the rich and… rich, I was starting to feel pretty good about myself.  I was wearing fashionable flats, cute jeans, and my body was being shaped by incredibly large and restrictive underwear.  My makeup even looked really good today.  Until I shoved my head into The Self Esteem Ruiner 3000.  

“OH!” the sales lady exclaimed when she turned around to find a curious 5 year-old in a 25 year-old’s body with her head shoved into a display, “The Self-Esteem Ruiner 3000 lets us see every single thing that is wrong with your face ever. The UV light penetrates all 7 layers of your skin, allowing me to create this detailed print out of all the times you lied to your mother about having re-applied that sunscreen.”  By this time, saleslady had swung herself behind the counter and her beady eyeballs were looking through a slot in the black cloth, right towards my face.  ”See that dark spot on your cheek there?  That’s sun damage. You’re going to die soon.  Also, see those dark purple areas around your eyes and your mouth?  You’re severely dehydrated.  Any minute now, I fully expect you to turn into a pile of dust.  Also, all those places where you see the glowing neon dots?  That’s either lint or clogged pores.  It’s hard to tell from here, because you are obviously the kind of person that dries themselves off after showers with towels made of dryer lint.  Or at least, you know, that’s what it seems like according to the amount of lint on your face.”

“THANK YOU?” I said politely after she got done shredding any bit of “I feel good about myselfness” that I had left in my body.  Then, just because the world is extra cruel, SarahI got sucked in and shredded to pieces, as well.  There are no limits to The Self-Esteem Ruiner’s cruelty.  

As penance for having treated our skin so badly for so many years, SarahI and I had to stand there for the next 5 minutes as she told us about all the $200/bottle miracle products that would keep those dark sunspots from ever surfacing.  I kept wanting to say, “Can’t you tell we’re poor? I mean, come on! I use linty towels!  That I wash myself!  Clearly, we’re not going to buy your product!” but I stood there and took it.  So did SarahI, with surprising enthusiasm, especially considering that as I was diving into The Self-Esteem Ruiner 3000 in the first place, I could hear her saying, “Nooooo!”

Next time, I’ll listen.  Until then, I keep going to the bathroom about every 10 minutes to stare into the mirror, reminding myself that it’s okay, cause that bad, bad contraption is really far away from me and my false reassurances about my complexion.