What's that on your face?

When do you finally know or accept that something is over. done. no more.

You see, more than a year-and-a-half ago a blush (yes, this whole blog is about a blush) that I had used for more than 15 years, was discontinued. Now, I understand that products eventually run their course and are replaced or discontinued, but what I don't understand is how an International Company, can claim to have a Customer Service Department, when clearly, they don't.

As soon as the blush (True Complexion, Honey Brown Luster) that I had used for many years was no longer around, I went to the Revlon website and found an email address AND phone number for their Customer Service Department. I wrote and called. I wrote and called again. And, you guessed it, I wrote and called yet again. Nothing. Not even one teeney-tiny bit of a Revlon earlobe to hear me. If it was just me being a complete idiot and not taking the right approach to connect with the Service Department, I probably could have let the whole thing go.

See, the thing is, I am a makeup artist, or I used to be (BK, "Before Kids") and I had introduced "Miss Honey Brown" to a number of people, including my Mum and Sister-in-law. Like me, the notion of not having a perfect blush for those shimmery, smooth cheeks, was enough to create a wee bit of panic in all of us. Independently, both my Mum and SIL emailed and called Revlon's Customer Service department. Guess what?
...you already know the answer.

All of this, told and retold, still doesn't make me feel any better. Not only have I not been able to find another blush (my cupboards and drawers are full of "slightly" used but "not quite right" blushes), but I have no closure. I have not heard a human voice tell me "Sorry Miss, that product has been discontinued". Is that too much to ask?

Apparently, according to Revlon, it is.

So, every morning, before I start my 55-minute commute to work, I get myself a coffee. It sounds so cliche, but I actually think about my coffee like someone might think about a prada purse or a coach bag. I get a little bit "giddy" when I actually think about the coffee I get to drink in the morning.

I think that it has not only been the coffee that I have enjoyed for the last 3 years but the whole experience that unfolds when I actually drive into a parking spot outside the Gas Station (that's right...I get my coffee at a Tim Horton's counter, inside a gas station).

You see, 3 years ago when my daughter was almost 2 my husband and I crunched some numbers, groveled, begged, sold some stuff on Criagslist and bought ourself a nice, old house in the Suburbs. We had lived in the city for over 10 years but only in rental apartments. We really wanted our own house where we could stay for 20 or 60 years.

So, we made the move to the suburbs and my morning coffee from a trendy South Granville Coffee bistro turned into a double-double from the Tim Horton's in the Esso Gas Station on the corner.

So what. Who cares where I get my coffee. Right?

Since going to the Tim Horton's for my coffee in the morning means that I stand in line with no fewer than 8, 16-year-olds on their way to school, I am always entertained. One of the most entertaining parts of my wait comes from my crazy idea that "hey, I don't seem so much older than them? Do I?". OR how about this one "I wonder if any of the 17-year-old guys think I am kind of cute?". WHAT? Am I crazy? It dawned on me the other day that I could actually, physically, have a child who is 17. Crap. I am not young. I could not pass for a teenager. I am 36 and have 2 children, a husband, a house, a job and a mortgage.

This thought alone, made my normally delicious large double-double taste curdled. Sour. It took my an entire day, and evening, to make myself feel better about this realization. I could have a 17 year old child. Its ok. I think I still look ok.

Now, here I am, the next morning, standing at the front of the line, ordering my coffee, and the Tim Horton's guy, Alex, looks at me as he passes me my coffee and says in the monotone voice that he has mastered, "you look about as tired as I feel". Seriously. He really said that.

Alex is probably 17.

He is also right. I do look tired.