MRIs and "The One"

Yesterday, I called the orthopedist on a hunch. I was fairly certain he wanted an MRI before I came in for my Monday appointment. I was right. And so — through a whirlwind of phone calls and schedule shifting — I now am penciled in for an MRI at Diagnostic Imaging tomorrow.

I spent the morning in a near-panic. Then I attempted 10 minutes of progressive relaxation at my desk. The phone rang twice; I let it slide off me. Then, the incredibly noisy Keepers of the Coke Machine came in to refill the stock ... and I gave up. Six minutes, and there was no way I could relax. I took a Klonopin, and as always, things started moving in slow-motion. At least I could breathe again.

Then I engaged in my other form of therapy: buying lipstick. I had to go to the pharmacy anyway, so while I was there, I browsed the aisles looking for The One.

For you men, let me explain the concept of The One. See, all women know the perfect lipstick is out there. The one that highlights their face and draws attention to their lips. The one that is the perfect color (YLBB) and creates a slight pout without looking cartoonish. It must last all day, but without being too dry or too sticky. You get bonus points if it's affordable.

This is the Holy Grail of lipsticks — always just out of reach. And, if perchance you do find such a lipstick, it will be discontinued next week and replaced with a cheap knock-off. Then it's back to square one.

I happened to come across a $6 tube of Rimmel Volume Boost in Plump. Then I came back to the office and experimented with it ... and I got an unsolicited lipstick compliment! That made me feel tons better.

At least I am secure in the fact that my lips will be kissably gorgeous as they contort into a silent scream in fear that my hand is going to fall off.