Puking in Paradise

Puking in Paradise

It was two p.m. West Coast Time and cocktail hour in Nantucket when Sydney facetimed me.  I searched for my phone and pictured her stepping off the catamaran her beau Robert was thinking about buying.  She really, really liked this guy.  She was forty-two.  A young friend.  I pictured her hitting the dock with a bounce in her step, her skin glowing in the ocean air. 

Maybe this was the engagement call. Then I saw her face on the screen and she looked like a creature the blue lagoon had rejected.

Blotchy puffy patches sat on skin the color of a Greyhound Bus.  Hideous. “I threw up,” she wailed.  “In my hair.  While we were sailing. Oh God I hate sailing.”  “You told him you loved sailing.”  I’d heard her say it.  “I lied,” she howled. 

“Jackass.  Okay, get in the shower and wash your hair.  You might want to give it a couple of washes.”  So gross. 

“Then put on a lot of the Deep Hydration Gel Balm.  The pink stuff.”  “That’s my favorite product,” Sidney hiccupped. 

“Fabulous.  Nothing like Beta Glucan to make a girl look like she didn’t just hurl.  And use the DePuff Eye Gel. Then put a cool washcloth on your face and power nap for twenty minutes.” 

Sydney fumbled around in her kit.  “When you get up, spray Tighten+Glow on your face.  A lot. The Neroli hydrosol will calm those blotches.  Use your Transform Serum and a dab of Meta.  A little concealer might not be a bad idea either.”

“Okay,” she said and turned on the shower.  “Thanks.”  “Tell Robert you hate sailing.  Maybe he’ll buy a horse.”  “I love horses,” Sydney said.  “Just make sure it’s all about you, boo” I snarked.  “But quit lying to him.  I’m too damn old to have friends who lie to men. Bye bye.”

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