It started with my beautiful sister Michelle. Not only was she perfect in my eyes, but she had actually spent a summer in New York City as a fashion model when she was only 16(!). I watched and mentally recorded her every move and considered her my hair, makeup, and style muse when I was an awkward adolescent.
One fateful day in seventh grade, I saw her new lipstick on our bathroom counter. Her lips looked positively luscious when she wore it, so I figured mine would too. I knew I shouldn't, but the opportunity to look like a super model was irresistibly tempting.
So, before going to school, I made up my mind, grabbed the lipstick, and ran. When I got on the bus, I slouched low in my seat, pulled out my prize, and smeared the lipstick thickly over my chapped lips.
I arrived at school and headed straight to my first period algebra class without checking a mirror. When I sat down, I made sure to apply another coat just in case the first five weren't noticeable enough.
Everything was going great until a boy named Jeff tapped me on the shoulder asking, "Can you help me with this?" I turned around with what was undoubtedly my most radiant smile.
"HOLY LIPSTICK!" He shouted out in fright and jumped back as far as his chair would allow. No joke. He actually jumped.
I still have an aversion to lipstick.