Lipstick gloss. I’ve caught myself thinking about it lately. Now, it’s not some thought I get lost in hoping that my more logical side would stroll by and snap me out of it like some Christian seeking to win souls.
“Are you saved?” And then I’d look up with such disdain in my eyes for even daring to ask such a question. Can’t you tell that I am one of you? My father is a preacher; what new thing do you want to tell me? I started singing in the choir from the womb. But maybe it is not the effrontery, it is perchance the judgment casually settled at the bottom of the question: that indeed I wasn’t one, that I lacked the fruit. I could feign anger for all I care but that question wrapped in genuine sincerity and love for my soul convicted my sinful heart more than all the sermons I’ve heard combined.
I’ve caught myself thinking about it- lipsticks. Whether lips that stick or stick for lips, I know they make lips want to stick. Look, I’m sorry, the story is about to be wack from here. I just lost my muse but I have promised myself that I will finish. This was what I said to myself the first time I used them. No, this wasn’t some cross-dressing phase of my life. I was simply an Assembly Prefect whose female friends had his face made up a little because he had to stand before a crowd of students a couple of times a week to address them. So, I began with a Nigerian girl’s starter pack: lip gloss.
If you were lucky enough to land a not-entirely-substandard lip gloss, you were very much into the one percent. Or you would have to deal with the disgusting white lining, which most people hate, by the way, every two minutes. Anyway, “all my babes are ballers,” and that wasn’t a thing I ever worried about. Not swallowing wasn’t much of a struggle. You shouldn’t swallow, your stomach won’t thank you for it. But it adapts to it, the white you swallow, I mean. This was what I told some girl. Wait a minute! There goes my intrusive thought. Hehe. An emoji will save me right now. Don’t blame me: I’m Gen Z, I speak emojis but somehow I need to express myself in words to be able to think better.
To write is to sit in judgment of oneself. How am I judging myself by writing about lipsticks? I know I want to judge an ex of mine whose lipstick nearly killed me. Gawd! Each time we kissed I had a stomach upset. It felt like I’d die. It was the kiss of death. I used to love kissing but after that lady, I retired. And she used to love kissing. “Hello, Dave” and the next thing, I’m tongue-tied. We ain’t French! I couldn’t speak my truth and how could I, right?
Well, it could be the bacteria she was exposed to. She did a lot to cadavers. All the lab tests.
But how does one choose the perfect lipstick gloss? I frankly do not know. Nevetheless, I think lipsticks are just that: sticks for the lips; they help lips walk. And If you’ve read to this point, nonetheless, I haven’t wasted your time.
In all, I think lips are beautiful with lipsticks. Female lips. The last thing I want to look at is well-moisturized male lips. No! Let ‘em crack. That’s more masculine. Mine ain’t though. They’re tender, at least. Look, just maintain good hygiene. I have to go. I’m kinda behind schedule on some work. I promise to share. It’s about someone I know. My father’s son. Oh, yes. My father doesn’t know me but he knows him. Ours is a crazy family. Some things you accept so as not to upset the balance. Hehe. I need my emoji! 😅
